Читать книгу The Cambrian Sketch-Book: Tales, Scenes, and Legends of Wild Wales - R. Rice Davies - Страница 9

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It was about three years subsequent to the departure of the son and heir of Dunraven, that the old lord resolved to take into his service MacLean, alias Mac the Devil. He knew that this man was a desperate character and a thorough daredevil, who neither feared God nor regarded man; in short, that for money and Scotch whisky, he would do the devil’s work according to his satanic majesty’s own special plan. There was no crime of which Mac was not guilty, but, by reason of the stealthy way in which he carried out his doings of iniquity, he always succeeded in avoiding detection. Though blood was on his hands, though he had robbed the fatherless, and murdered, for the sake of pelf, the innocent, yet he walked the earth with head erect as a guiltless person, little dreaming of the terrible doom awaiting him. However, his cup of iniquity was not yet full, though daily it was nearing the brim. He was in the act of planning some new crime when he received a message from the lord of Dunraven to attend him at the castle. Mac, with trembling hands and a sinking heart, at once attended to the commands of Mr. Vaughan, though, on his way there, he had many misgivings as to the prudence of the step he was taking. He, however, soon convinced himself that were he to disobey the summons he must quit for ever the neighbourhood, as he dare not confront the lord of Dunraven if guilty of disobedience to his lordship’s commands. To the castle, therefore, he repaired, and on his arrival he was ushered by the faithful Evan into the library, where Mr. Vaughan was awaiting him. On Mac’s entering he was requested to take a seat, when Mr. Vaughan, with a degree of sternness he seldom manifested, reproached him for leading a life so fraught with danger.

“I do not, my lord,” said Mac, touching his head, “understand your meaning.”

“Oh, you don’t, don’t you? If then I say you are deeply steeped in crime, that you are a murderer, a thief, a rogue, and a villain, should I not speak the truth, and would you not understand my charge?”

“Saying so, and proving its truth, are, I ken, two very different things, my lord. You can’t prove that I am otherwise than an innocent man.”

“Don’t you be too sure of that, Mac. Indeed, I already possess evidence, which, if necessary, can at any moment be produced, completely substantiating my charge; and, Mac, I have a great mind to produce that evidence to the authorities.”

“You dare not do that, my lord,” replied Mac.

“You scoundrel! dare you threaten me in my own castle? If you say another word, and use that language to me, I’ll send for the bum-bailiff at once, and, as a magistrate, order you into his custody.”

“I say again, my lord, that you daren’t carry out your threat.”

“Why daren’t I, I should be glad to know?”

“Because if you were to do so I’d peach.”

“You would do what, Mac?”

“I’d peach; that is, I’d tell all about your lordship’s doings.”

“Be d—d, you would?”

“Yes.”

“But who would believe you, you scoundrel?”

“Me they may not, my lord of Dunraven; but they’d believe the evidence of others.”

“But can you or your friends, you vagabond, bear any evil testimony against me? I live in my own castle, and never mix with the world. It is well known to all around, that my life and my time is devoted to study, to the practice of virtue, and to acts of piety. Me they know as a model citizen and a Christian man and a gentleman. Therefore, my character would be proof against insinuations, or charges patched up by you or your hellish crew. You and your criminal companions might say, and even swear—you are capable of anything bad—you saw me in the act of committing a crime, but neither your word nor your oath would have any weight with those who know you, were the life of a dog only involved.”

“Dinna you be too sure of that, my lord,” rejoined Mac; “I ken, and Squire Jones knows too, the sad fate of the ship Bristol, of the Elizabeth of Swansea, and of the City of Paris. He and I know also by whose hands the false light was hung out on Dunraven Head, and by whose hands the captains and the crews were murdered—who afterwards seized the wrecks, who sent them to market to be sold, and who received the money. If I may be so bold, I could tell further that, within this castle, and in a cell beneath this room, there is a poor unfortunate man, who was put into an iron cage, and locked there by you—the lord of Dunraven castle—and that he is daily fed by crumbs from your table. If this man were free, he could tell a tale at which humanity would shudder. You, my lord, think I sleep with my eyes shut, that I tremble at sight of the sea, that I’m afraid of the darkness and the tempests; and you knew not that when those vessels went down, and when all the hands on board perished, except this poor man in the cage, I was near you, my lord—even close by your side, though unperceived. Knowing these facts, I now dare you, my lord, to molest me or breathe a word injurious to my character. If you do so, I’ll peach, and I’ll take care that the lord of Dunraven shall be my fellow-prisoner. You have called me a scoundrel. Doesn’t that foul term apply equally to you, my lord? But your sin will yet find you out.”

For these terrible revelations Mr. Vaughan was wholly unprepared. During their recital he shook as a man having the palsy. He uttered, too, the most awful imprecations, and cursed and swore like a man possessed of the devil. These, however, had no influence over the mind of the hard-headed and hard-hearted Scotchman, who continued his tale heedless of the foaming rage of Mr. Vaughan. He never dreamt that his crimes were known to mortal, beyond the circle of his demoniac companions. He had so cautiously arranged his plans, and had carried them out so stealthily, that he fancied the knowledge of his rascality was confined to those desperadoes whom he had specially hired to carry out his nefarious designs. Now, however, his deeds were known not only to Mac, but to his great enemy, Squire Jones; thus the man whom he sought to rob of his rightful possessions was also cognizant of those deeds. Mr. Vaughan’s first thought, when Mac had finished his tale, was to take away, there and then, either his life or his liberty. But a moment’s reflection compelled him to hesitate in adopting so dangerous a course, as it was known in the village of Southerndown that Mac had been summoned to the castle. Considering the matter more seriously, he came to the conclusion that there was only one course open to him: namely, to take Mac into his service, and make him captain of the crew. By pursuing this course, he would completely shut the mouths of Mac’s friends, and by securing the services of so skilful and so daring a wrecker, richer and more abundant harvests might yet be reaped. Drawing himself to his full height, he said to his defiant visitor—

“I do not, Mac, admit your charges, and I say further that they are incapable of proof; but as I sustained so heavy a loss by law, and as drowning men will not stand on ceremony, but will accept the assistance of their bitterest foe when they feel themselves sinking beneath the devouring waves, I am therefore prepared to take you into my employ, and if you prove faithful to my interests and obedient to my orders, you may rise to wealth and to honour.”

“But in what way, my lord, do you intend me to serve you?”

“You know, Mac, your special calling, and not wholly unknown to me—don’t be alarmed—is the success which has followed your labours. Being under my protection, by being in my service, you may well look forward to still greater results. I need not say you are well aware that your present position is fraught with danger, and that one word from me would put a stop to your career. If your words be true, our interests clash. Besides, Mac, the stealthy and criminal vagabond, prowling about in search of prey, is in a very different position to Mac, the servant of the lord of Dunraven. With that sentiment you agree, do you not?”

“I must admit, my lord, you have put the case very clearly, and your reasons in favour of my accepting your offer are strong. I can’t withstand them, so I’ll say Aye to your proposal.”

“You have acted like a man of sense, Mac, as I always took you to be. To-night, work will have to be done; so go home and tell Molly, your wife, of your engagement, and don’t fail to meet me at the Watch Tower at four o’clock.”

No sooner had Mac left the castle to pay a visit to his wife, with a view to apprise her of his engagement, than Mr. Vaughan also took his departure, and immediately afterwards joined the watcher at the Tower, which was situate on the highest point of the promontory. On entering the observatory, he inquired for the result of the day’s observations, which, on being put into his hand, made him remark that matters did not look very bright.

“When things are at the worst,” replied the watcher, “they generally mend. I think we shall have some work to do before to-morrow morning.”

“Your reason for that opinion, my faithful Duncan.”

“You see yonder flag hoisted on St. Donat’s Watch Tower? That flag has never yet deceived me. Depend upon it, it is the harbinger of good news. The wind, too, blows hard from the south, and, if I’m not mistaken, there will be a fearful gale before midnight, and the ships coming down channel must necessarily be driven towards our coast.”

“Your information, my Duncan, is cheering: I, too, am bearer of good news to you. I have just engaged Mac the Devil, and shall appoint him to the office of captain of the beach and boatmen.”

“I’m so glad you’ve taken my cousin into your service. Mac is a smart man, he is well up in the trade, he is fearless, and, what is still more important, will not stick at trifles in obtaining his end.”

“You approve then, Duncan, of my arrangement?”

“Most certainly, sir. In our line of business Mac has no equal. He has the strength of a giant, while he is a stranger to fear, and fortunately has no conscience. I never heard of his failure in accomplishing his object by fair means or foul. When he fails to thrash a dozen sailors with his fists, and to pitch them into the sea, he resorts to the pistol, which, in his hand, never misses in its aim. In our calling, my lord, I yield to none but Mac. He is my superior in everything, except in this observatory. Oh, were he here to-night! We shall want a man of his metal.”

“This time your wish will be gratified. I expect Mac here every moment. Look, he’s coming down the road from Southerndown, in our direction. * * * Call up the men from the beach, Duncan; I wish them to be present when Mac arrives, so as to inform them of the appointment.”

The men were duly summoned by the head watcher. On arriving at the tower, they stood in a row, in front of the entrance, to await their master’s commands. Presently he appeared, accompanied by Duncan and Mac, and, addressing his men, spoke of their fidelity to his interest, called their attention to the many splendid victories achieved over the enemy, of the rich laurels already reaped from wrecks, and, further, that there was the strongest ground for hoping that their past gains were but as a drop of the bucket to those they might expect to realize hereafter. “But your success,” said Mr. Vaughan, “will depend wholly upon yourselves. You must be united, there must be harmony in your ranks, hearty co-operation; while all must cheerfully bow to the order of the commander-in-chief. To that office I have selected a man after your own heart. You who are in favour of having Mac for your captain, hold up your hands.”

To this request every hand was held up, whereupon Mac took his post at the head of the wreckers. They were then regaled with a liberal supply of whisky, and when each one had taken his fill they repaired again to the beach. No sooner, however, had they departed than there were seen coming down the channel two fine vessels. The wind now blew a frightful gale, raising up the waters into waves like mountains, on whose crests the ships were carried at their mercy. Everything appeared favourable to the wreckers. In the west the sun had declined. The shades of night were falling fast. Every minute the darkness thickened. The tempest increased in fury, while the roar of the ocean and the winds howling in the rocks and caverns around Dunraven Head, were most appalling. Notwithstanding the tempest, neither Mr. Vaughan nor Duncan moved from the spot of observation. As the vessels neared the point, the fatal light was placed in the tower. The captains of both ships now fully realised their danger: that there was no hope of saving either their ships or their own lives. The crews, too, were well aware of being on the enemy’s ground, and, informing their commanders of their apprehension, at once unanimously resolved, if they must perish by treachery so base and devilish, that others should also perish at their hands. On their ships being driven into the bay they heroically prepared themselves for the combat. Each one armed himself with a cutlass, and when the vessels were dashed against the rocks of Dunraven Head, they, as one man, leaped into the boiling surge, and swam for the shore. But in this heroic attempt to save their lives, several received severe injuries, while others sank to rise no more. However, the greater portion of them arrived safely on the beach, but no sooner had they landed than they saw, creeping along the shore, under the shelter of the rocks, a strong body of men well armed. The sailors, however, were in no way alarmed at the appearance of the enemy. Before quitting their vessels they were well aware that the lord of Dunraven was on the alert. Of this the light on the Watch Tower was a sufficient proof. Hence, when they saw the wreckers approaching they placed themselves on the defensive, and patiently awaited the attack. They had not long to wait, for the Dunraven men immediately came up and called upon the sailors to surrender. To that call, however, they paid no heed, but drawing out their daggers, fell with terrible force upon the wreckers, who, however, stood their ground manfully. The battle was a desperate one, while the slaughter was most appalling to witness. Many a brave man on both sides fell, mortally wounded. For a time the sailors had the best of the fray. Their arms were nerved, too, by the consideration that, if beaten, death would be the lot of each. Just, however, when they thought their victory was sure, there came up to the rescue of the wreckers their captain, who, with his own hand, killed six of the sailors. The work of butchery now commenced in earnest. One after another of the sailors fell, never to rise again. Indeed not one single man of their number survived to tell the tale. When the work of slaughter was completed, the captain ordered all the bodies to be carried to the adjoining cavern, where they were buried in a large chasm in the rock. After interring the dead, Mac and the survivors returned to the beach, and watched there for the morning dawn. During the night both vessels were broken to atoms by the fury of the waves, and as daylight appeared, the shore, for half a mile, was literally covered with articles of great value, which on being sold, realised a large sum.

The deeds of that terrible night spread far and wide. The owners of the vessels and merchants pressed the Government to send down a special commission of inquiry. For several weeks these commissioners carried on their investigations; but, while collecting a large amount of evidence, yet in consequence of the absence of one witness, whose evidence was essential to bring the charge home to the lord of Dunraven, they failed in substantiating the case against Mr. Vaughan. A week subsequent to the departure of the commissioners, that witness was found; but he could tell no tale, being a mangled corpse. The body had been washed ashore near Porthcawl. The remains were those of Captain ap William, the father of John. The news of this discovery was at once carried to his widow, who was busily engaged in preparing her son’s wedding dinner when the messenger arrived. After breaking the fatal news to Mrs. ap William, the messenger continued his journey to the little village of St. Bride’s, and, going up to the church, he met at the porch the newly-married pair. To Captain John, as he was generally called, the messenger told his sad tale. Both John and his wife were deeply affected on being apprised of their bereavement. They returned to their home to weep and to mourn; so John’s bridal day, which he hoped would be a day of unclouded joy, proved to be one of sadness, of sorrow, and of death. He thus fully realized, by personal experience, the truth of the inspired saying, that we know not what a day may bring forth.