Tough yarns, vol. 2 (of 2)

“Come aft here, my lads, and haul down another reef in the mainsail!” exclaimed a hoary veteran, who stood at the helm of a fishing smack which was buffeting the waves at the entrance to the British Channel one October evening, when the lowering of the clouds and the freshening of the breeze gave strong indications of a southwesterly gale. The order was promptly obeyed; and the snug little craft again breasted the lofty surge, like a bird upon the wing, skimming the foaming tops of the billows.

“We shall have a rough night, father,” said a middle aged man, whose hardy countenance had borne the washing of many a salt sea spray; “the sun is setting in yon bank, and tinges the ocean with his reddening hue. The summits of the Scilly Isles appear like dying watch-fires through the haze; and these, you know, are sure prognostics of a rising gale.”

“Then let it come,” replied the veteran. “He whom the winds and the seas obey, can, when it pleaseth him, allay their fury and command them ‘Peace, be still!’ But go, Richard, have the trysail ready and get the storm-jib up; for by the long swell from the westward, I am of opinion there has been bad weather to windward, which will be down upon us before long; so let us have all low and snug before dark, my lad. And, James,” continued he to a noble-looking, fair-haired lad; “James, set St. Agnes’ lighthouse by the compass, for the fog will thicken presently; and yon Seven Stones⁠[3]—worse than the plagues of Egypt to a sailor—look far from tempting, crested as they are with feathery foam.”

“I hope mother will not be uneasy about us,” rejoined the youth, as he laid the edge of his hand upon the compass, directing it towards the lighthouse; “we have been a fortnight at sea, grandfather, and the tempests must have howled round the cottage fearfully o’ nights; it has blown hard ever since we came out, and not a fish caught, besides losing part of our nets.”

“What, still uttering complaints!” exclaimed the veteran. “Look at your brother yonder, on the windless end; how fearlessly he sits and watches the ill-omened bird⁠[4] which triumphs in a storm.”

“He does not think of home,” replied the youth. “But what would become of mother, and Jane, and the little ones, should the Fisherman’s Family go to wreck?”

“The Fisherman’s Family go to wreck!” reiterated the old man, stamping his foot upon the deck; “she’ll weather many a gale yet, my boy! Look at this white head!” and as he uncovered his hoary locks that wildly wantoned in the breeze, he presented a fine picture of Time steering inexperienced youth through the dangerous channels which beset human life. “Look at this white head!” he exclaimed; “the snows and storms of sixty-seven winters have passed over it, yet was I never deserted in peril by Him in whom I have placed my trust. Your mother knows what a fisherman’s life is. Ay, boy, it was my pride to fortify her mind against adversity. But go, James, and help your father reef the bowsprit; for we shall have the gale here presently.”

And a gale indeed they had; for scarcely was the glory of the day departed, when the wind, like a destroying angel, came sweeping over the surface of the deep, and dashing the billows up to heaven with fury. Night shed its blackness on the scene, whilst the dense fog rendered it more drear and horrible. Poor James thought of his mother and his happy home; whilst his brother Ned, though two years his junior, seemed like a child of the tempest, exulting in its lavish wildness.

The Fisherman’s Family (for such was the name of the smack) rode buoyant on the waves; she rose and fell with the heave and set of the sea, like the swift-winged swallow when it stems the tempest; and the small bark scarcely felt the roughness of the billows, where larger vessels would have laboured fearfully with their heavy burdens.

It was about ten o’clock, when the crew of the smack thought that amidst the roaring of the storm they could distinguish the reports of signal-guns at a distance, and every ear was anxiously inclined to discover the quarter whence the sounds proceeded. At length they became more distinct, and it was soon ascertained that the vessel must be nearing them. The fog was still thick and gloomy, yet occasionally there were intervals of partial clearness; and it was during one of these breaks that a ship was descried drifting at the mercy of the wind and waves, for it was evident, from the wild course she was pursuing, that all management was lost. Her foremast, bowsprit, and main top-mast were gone; and having nothing aloft to steady her, the billows beat against her sides and dashed raging over her. The smack showed a light, which was immediately answered, and two guns fired to acknowledge the near approach of succour.

“That ship has lost her rudder as well as her masts,” exclaimed the old man; “she has struck somewhere; and now my lads, to render them assistance!”

“Oh, if we should get her safe into Mount’s Bay, grandfather,” said James, “and a good salvage⁠[5] awarded, what would mother say to us then? I should not mind the loss of the nets.”

“Let us save their lives,” said Ned, “at all events; and if we can save the ship too, so much the better.”

In the course of another hour the smack was hailing the ship, and found that her rudder had been knocked away upon the rocks at the same time that the masts and bowsprit had fallen with the shock. She had also sprung a leak under the bows, and the pumps could barely keep her free. As, however, no immediate danger was apprehended, the smack kept near the shattered vessel until daylight, when the father of the youth contrived to get on board, by running close alongside and catching a rope with a noose at the end, which he passed securely round his body and was hauled through the water by the ship’s crew. The smack then dropped astern with a stout rope, and by her judicious movements acted as a rudder to the large vessel, which was got before the wind for the Bristol Channel; but the towrope parted soon after, and the gale increased to a downright hurricane.

Upon an eminence on the coast between Penzance and the Land’s End stood a substantial dwelling, which though designated a cottage, presented every token of homely comfort. A quantity of fishing materials, hung out to dry, showed it to be tenanted by those hardy sons of the ocean, who brave the greatest dangers to procure fish for the markets; whilst the air of neatness and enjoyment also proved it to belong to one of that class of men, who risk their existence to save the lives and property of others—the undaunted pilot. A winding and declivious path led to the shelving rocks below, which formed a small inlet or bay for vessels of a light draught, that had received the name of the Smuggler’s Gap, from its having been frequently used by those daring outlaws in their illegal trade.

On the same evening that has been already mentioned, an anxious mother quitted the cradle in the cottage to look out towards the sea for those whom, next to heaven, she loved best. Her foreboding eye had witnessed the same prognostics of the gale, and with a heavy heart she resumed the mother’s watch over her sleeping infant. A fair and beautiful female, about fifteen years of age, was attending to the duties of the house; a boy of ten years sat by his mother’s side gazing on her care-marked countenance; whilst a girl of three years was sharing her supper with a rough but favourite dog on the hearth before the fire.

“I must feed poor Dorey, mother,” said the little one, “for James told me to be kind to him. Poor Dorey!” continued she, patting his head, “I wish James was here.”

“You should remember, Mary,” replied the mother, “there are also your father and your grandfather.”

“And Edward,” added the boy; “I miss him very much; for he used to help me up the rocks, and I am afraid to scramble along alone.”

“All are equally dear to us, William,” rejoined the mother, “and all are equally under the care of Providence. Yes; I trust the Fisherman’s Family is safe.”

“Who gave her that name, mother?” inquired William; “you promised to tell me.”

“I did, my child; and as my heart is heavy, I will now relate to you how it happened. Your grandfather in his younger life was brought up to expect a genteel competency, for his father was a wealthy ship-owner at Liverpool. He was sent to sea early, whilst his brother remained at home to manage the business. But that brother was cruel and treacherous; he weaned his father’s affections from the poor sailor, and got a will made entirely in his own favour. Your grandfather, not suspecting the wickedness of his brother, was frequently absent on long voyages; and when only in his twentieth year, he married a poor girl, who had no other recommendation than her beauty of person and integrity of heart. He married too without the sanction of his father, who from that hour forbade him his presence and never saw him more—for the angry parent died a few months afterwards. On arranging his father’s affairs, your grandfather found himself disinherited; and his brother, who had dissipated a great portion of the property previous to the old man’s dissolution, gathered the residue together and embarked for the East Indies. But your grandfather was not wholly destitute; he had saved something handsome to begin life with, and purchased a share of a ship, of which he obtained the command. Still adversity pressed upon him: his ship was captured by the enemy, and he returned (for they did not detain the prisoners then) to England almost pennyless. My mother had relations at St. Ives, and thither the poor sailor and his wife repaired. They were received with welcome; and he, unwilling to leave my dear mother for any length of time, commenced his career as a fisherman and a pilot. Success crowned his labours; and he not only obtained a handsome maintenance, but was enabled to purchase a vessel of his own. In this house I was born, and when I grew up, was married to your father and had a family. The old vessel was broken up and a new one built, which was called by the name it now bears. Oh, how many anxious hours does your father pass for the Fisherman’s Family ashore, and how many days of earnest solicitude do I endure for the Fisherman’s Family at sea! But go, my children, the storm is coming on. Go to your beds; but first kneel to the Creator and humbly implore his guardian care for the poor mariners.”

Heavily passed the night with the apprehensive mother; often did she approach the dizzy edge of the steep cliff, but no other sounds were heard except the continued howling of the tempest and the roaring of the breakers. Fervently were her petitions offered up before the throne of Omnipotence; and amidst the appalling demonstrations of almighty power did the creature of his will plead with her Creator. His voice was heard upon the storm, proclaiming dominion and majesty; but her’s mingled with it, as in prostration of heart she earnestly supplicated mercy.

Morning appeared, but the desired vessel could not be distinguished. The sea presented one wide sheet of foam, with here and there a dark object driven like the ocean weed upon the waters. At the close of the day, a dismasted ship with a smack in company was seen through the dim haze, drifting towards the shore. They were yet several miles distant; but hope for the ship there was none, unless the gale abated. The intuitive eye of the mother readily recognised the little bark that held, as she supposed, her father, her husband, and her two sons; and all the several relative bonds were linked more closely round her heart. Their occupation was manifest,—they were waiting to assist fellow creatures in distress; and the abundant prayer for the safety of all spontaneously ascended from her lips.

Night veiled them from observation; but the bold seamen of the neighbourhood, headed by the reverend pastor of the village as a magistrate, remained in readiness to act as circumstances required. Apprehension sat on many a furrowed countenance, and dark anticipations filled many a feeling breast. But language would fail to describe the agony which suspense and fearful agitation wrought in the mother’s heart.

At length, about midnight, the report of a heavy gun echoed among the rocks, and told that the devoted ship was near at hand; the flash had pointed out her position, but nothing could yet be seen. The pastor with his resolute band of determined boatmen hastened to the shore; report followed report; fires were lighted on the rocks to show that land was near, but still no object could be discerned.

The storm came more heavily, and vivid lightnings rent the frowning clouds; then when the glaring flash threw its stream of awful splendour on the feathery foam, that fated ship was seen struggling with the waves. As a last resource she had let go her anchors; and there she lay, like the soul of the mighty, wrestling with despair. Another gun—and yet another—but help was hopeless, From the shore no assistance could be given; every attempt to get through the raging surf was useless; and the brave boatmen were compelled—an unusual circumstance—to be sad spectators of the scene.

The ship rode heavily as the long rolling waves came foaming in. Suddenly a shriek was heard upon the shore—a wild cry: the vessel had parted her cables, and the streaming lightning showed her careering towards the rocks with resistless force. Onward she came (as was now plainly visible) through the hissing foam. Still onward, onward she urged her desperate course, till a tremendous crash—a loud yell—proclaimed that her stout timbers were shattered, and many a stouter heart was buried in the waves.

The ship had struck on that part of the shore where the rocks were steepest; and the wreck remained wedged in firmly between two craggy knolls not more than one hundred fathoms from perfect safety. But even that was a fearful space; for the heavy breakers rolled over the sunken rocks and dashed with wild fury. Body after body came on the surge, and were thrown upon the land: but life had fled, and no effort could restore animation to the mangled and disfigured corpse.

The inhabitants of the adjacent village, young and old, were crowded on the strand; and amidst the group was the venerable rector. Often, when the vivid flash illuminated the foaming billows and showed the deck of the rending vessel, he rushed with his horse towards the spot; but the barrier was impassable, and the bitter shriek rang upon his tortured ears. “Oh, that I could die for them!” he exclaimed. “Father of mercies, stretch forth thine hand and save!” Willingly would he have given his life for theirs; for he was prepared to meet his God, whilst they would be hurried into the presence of their Maker without a moment for repentance.

Morning began to dawn, and dawned in horror; but with its earliest beam the smack was seen about a mile from the shore under snug sail and apparently in safety. The anxious mother was with the villagers, but the children remained at the house upon the cliff. Sleepless had been their night; and at the break of day the terrified Jane, with William and the little Mary, stood upon the shelving rock above the yawning gulf which had already entombed many of their fellow creatures. They could see the Fisherman’s Family, as the light became more clear; and it was evidently the intention of those on board to run for the Smuggler’s Gap,—a small red flag having been hoisted at the mast-head to require the boatmen on shore to hold themselves in readiness to give assistance.

At this moment, whilst the children were standing gazing at the vessel, the heavens seemed to be rent asunder, and the red blaze of the forked lightning darted forth; it struck the smack, and masts and sails came tumbling down in one general wreck. “My father! my father!” skrieked the horror-stricken Jane, recoiling backward and grasping her brother round the neck, as if she feared that he too would be torn away. The little Mary clung on the other side, and even the poor dog looked with instinctive dread towards the ocean.

But though the smack was dismasted, her hull still continued to float, and every wave drove her nearer to the shore. Oh, what an agonizing sight was that to the fond mother and her children! The former ran hurriedly among the boatmen, exhorting and imploring them to use their best exertions to snatch her relatives from death. Her spirits seemed to rise in proportion as their peril increased; and she laboured to forward the preparations which were making as a last effort to rescue the little crew.

The ship still continued grinding between the rocks, and victim after victim was hurried into eternity. From portions of the wreck which had drifted on shore, it was conjectured that she was a free trader from Calcutta; and the number of hands and passengers were calculated at seventy. The boatmen had made repeated efforts to get a rope from her, but all their attempts had failed. At length, part of a mast with five individuals clinging to it was seen to be rent away from the body of the wreck, and lifted by a mountain surge clear over the craggy rocks. Another wave came rolling in; but just before it reached them, it raised its awful crest, and with a tremendous roar, like the famished panther when seizing his prey, dashed furiously upon their heads. They were seen for a few moments hurled confusedly amongst the bubbling eddies, and then disappeared. Once more the shattered mast floated, but there were now only three, who clung to it with desperate energy as they neared the shore and hopes of life revived. The next wave was still more raging than the last, but its fury was spent before it reached the swimmers; and “they’re safe! they’re safe!” was shouted from the shore. The boatmen plied their oars with redoubled strength, and in a few minutes the three men were hauled into the boat, which immediately made for the safest landing-place.

The villagers hurried to the spot, and the anxious mother, hoping to hear tidings of her family, stood foremost amongst them as the boat ran upon the strand. But who can paint her joy and her terror, her delight and her agony, when she saw that one of the individuals saved was her husband! They were soon clasped in each other’s arms; but the bitter recollection that lives infinitely precious to them were still in jeopardy with scarcely a hope of rescue, roused them to exertion. Richard turned to the boat and assisted an elderly man to land. The moment the latter touched the ground, he fell upon his knees and offered up a thanksgiving to the Creator; he then clung round the neck of Richard, and blessed him as the instrument of his preservation. “I should have sunk,” said he, “but you supported me; you snatched me from death and—but I have power to show my gratitude.”

The other man saved was a seaman, who reported the ship to be the “Isabella,” from the East Indies. How many had perished he could not tell; but there were yet more than one half of the crew, and nearly the whole of the passengers on board. By the aid of their glasses, the boatmen could discern the hapless creatures as they watched the success of those who had been saved, and several launched themselves upon the fickle element lashed to broken pieces of the wreck. The boats were again on the alert, and the boatmen had the satisfaction of picking up all that the billows allowed to come within their reach.

But now the principal attention of the men on shore was devoted to the smack, as she neared the craggy barriers for security. The old man with his two grandsons and two men, who formed the crew, had been actively engaged in getting up a boat’s mast, on which they hoisted a small sail so as to give the vessel steerage way; and it seemed to answer the required purpose, for the little bark with impetuous haste rushed onward to the Smuggler’s Gap, as if bidding defiance to suspense.

Pale anxiety sat on every countenance. “Is there any hope?” inquired the rector, addressing a gray-headed veteran, who from infancy had been inured to the tempest, and had the character of a bold intrepid sailor. Report made him the associate of a gang of smugglers; but humane as he was brave, many a shipwrecked seaman was indebted to Donald Ferguson for his life. “Is there no hope?” inquired the rector. A look of melancholy anxiety was the only answer. The rector repeated his question.

“Sailors never despair, sir,” replied Donald, “and if they once get well in the—but stop: I have no right to disclose to any one, much more to you.”

“Yet,” rejoined the rector, “when yon gallant ship has been lost, can so small a vessel be saved?”

“Have hopes, sir,” replied Donald; and then turning away, “Ned,” he exclaimed to a rough, hardy-looking fellow, well drenched with the surf, who immediately approached him. They whispered together for a few minutes, and then Ned ran from place to place selecting the strongest and most daring of the boatmen for some particular purpose.

“Ned,” exclaimed Donald again, “overhaul the hawser down, ship the capstan bars, and be all ready. Remember, it is life or death, my hearty! I myself will hook her on.”

“No, no,” said Richard, “that shall be my doing; you are old, Donald.”

“But not feeble,” replied the veteran; “your anxiety would betray you; besides, you have a wife and other children, but if old Donald goes, nobody will miss him. Do as you are bid, my boy; and now for the marks!” He waved his hat, and two conspicuous objects were instantly raised at different distances on the rocks, to act as a guide to those in the smack where to make their passage.

Who can describe the feelings of the spectators, as they looked on with doubtful apprehension and silent astonishment! The smack was now so close to the shore, that every one was visible. No bustle nor confusion prevailed: all seemed ready with cool intrepidity to attend to their several duties. The old man stood stationed at the helm, and with steady gaze kept his eyes fixed upon the beacons. Now she was lifted up to heaven, and borne with amazing rapidity through the outer breakers; again she sunk and disappeared beneath the hollow seas.

“She’s gone! she’s gone!” exclaimed the rector; but in an instant the vessel again mounted on the topmost wave, and rushed with surprising swiftness through the foaming surge. At this moment a dreadful broken sea came, raging with all its fury; it burst upon the deck, and seemed to bury the little craft in the dark abyss. Breathless, agonizing fear filled every heart, and groans and shrieks mingled with the gale. But again the smack rose, though the helm was now deserted, and the vessel seemed abandoned to her fate. Once more, however, was hope revived; for young Edward with cool determination ran to the tiller, and directed her headlong course.

The vessel had reached the secret channel known only to the illicit trader; she neared the beach; the sea again struck her, and she was carried by its force through the inner breakers. A wild shout of joy arose from the shore as the smack gained the smooth water, agitated only by the receding swell; but at this instant, she struck the ground heavily and rent in twain, the retiring surge carrying back the shattered fragments towards the rocks. And now the hardy race of brave boatmen, reckless of danger, plunged headlong in the waves. Old Donald took the lead; he grasped the arm of the lad James and turned towards the shore; the surf threw them up with violence and would again have returned them to the sea, but Donald seized the rope which had been overhauled down and kept his firm grasp; in a few seconds more they were safe on land. Richard succeeded in saving his father-in-law, aided by the boy Ned, who swam like a fish and seemed to triumph in the element. Not a soul was lost of that little crew; and relatives and friends flocked round, rejoicing in their deliverance.

The grandfather, with Richard, his wife, and the whole of the fisherman’s family, accompanied by the stranger who had been saved from the ship, hastened to the cottage on the cliff. They entered the abode with congratulations, and the stranger was ushered into the best apartment. He sat down, blessing his deliverer and forming schemes in his own mind to testify his gratitude. Suddenly his eyes were rivetted on a picture that hung suspended over the mantel-piece; it was a portrait of the unkind father who had disinherited his son, through the false representation of a still more cruel brother; but it had been preserved by the old man as the last relic of his family. The stranger gazed upon it with earnestness, and he then eagerly turned to the aged fisherman:—their eyes met, and again both looked at the picture. The stranger covered his face with his hands and groaned bitterly.

“I do not value the loss of the vessel,” said Richard, “so that we have all met together again. But come, father,” he continued, “let us kneel and offer up our grateful praises to the throne of grace.”

“Stop, stop!” cried the stranger convulsively: “my presence would be a clog upon your prayers. I too had a father—that picture was his,” he continued, falling on his knees before the venerable old man, “and you must be—you are my noble-minded, my much-injured brother.”

Oh, what a meeting was this! Animosity had long since subsided, and the word “brother” revived all the attachment of their boyish days.

What need of saying more? they knelt together; and whilst without the storm raged, within the cottage

They rose, and the stranger—stranger now no longer—was received into the circle with delight. A man entered the room, announcing that several of the seamen who had been saved from the wreck were waiting outside the house, to know if they might take shelter in some outbuildings. The kind-hearted mother would not permit this, but succoured them under the same roof with her children, and gave them plentiful refreshment. The stranger went amongst them, and they instantly rose from their repast with the utmost respect. From them he learned that the whole of the remaining portion of the crew and passengers had quitted the ship. About thirty had perished; but the rest, nearly forty in number, were safe on land. Another man now entered, and addressed the stranger as Sir William Russell. Yes! he was great, he was wealthy; and from that hour his influence and his wealth were devoted to the promotion of the happiness and welfare of the Fisherman’s Family.