Читать книгу Ronald Morton; or, the Fire Ships - William Henry Giles Kingston - Страница 18

Navis Grind, or Navie Grind, the point towards which Morton and his friend directed their steps, is a high cliff forming the extreme western point of that part of Shetland called North Maven, and thus stands out prominently into the Atlantic Ocean, some way to the south of Ronas Hill. A short way off from it, due west, like the advanced sentry of an outpost, is the small rocky islet of Ossa Skerry, but this in no way breaks the force of the seas as they rush impetuously onward from far far away across the ocean. It seems, on the contrary, to have the effect of uniting the strength of two seas in one, and of impelling them with double vehemence against the bold cliff which confronts their fury. Solid as is the rock of which the cliff is composed, it has in the course of ages been rent away, quarried out as it were; huge blocks, many of several tons weight, being cast far away inland, while the whole ground, for two or three hundred yards from the edge of the cliff, is strewed with fragments of lesser size, so that the rocks present more the appearance of the ruins of some vast edifice, than, as they really are, masses hove there by the operation of one of nature’s most potent agents. At length the sea has worked a deep chasm in the cliff, and each successive storm seems to dig out and force upward a fresh layer of rock. As the party approached this spot, so wild and desolate at all times, but doubly so now, the seas, dark, towering, and topped with crests of foam, came rolling onward in quick succession, with a fierceness which seemed irresistible, till, meeting the cliff, they rushed upwards in dense masses, making the very ground shake with the concussion. Now a sea, fiercer than its forerunners, would tear away a huge fragment of rock, and throw it into the air as if it had been projected from the mouth of a volcano, or send it rolling along the down, making it dangerous to approach the spot; and, while dense sheets of spray obscured the view seaward, the great body of water was thrown back in a continuous cascade, increasing the tumult of the foaming caldron which raged below.

“It was near this wild place that Lawrence Brindister obtained that strange dog of his,” said Captain Maitland to Morton. “It was the only living creature washed ashore from the wreck of a large ship—a foreigner, we could not ascertain of what nation. While others were engaged in picking up the treasures they could find, he, at no little risk to his own life, assisted the poor animal, who was sadly battered by the fragments of wreck, and exhausted by swimming to land. The creature looked up into his face, licked his hand, and, from that moment, claimed him as his master, and would follow no one else. See, there he stands; I fear he is to-day in one of his maddest fits.”

The captain pointed, as he spoke, to the top of a high rocky mount which overlooked the sea. Lawrence Brindister, with his two dumb animals by his side, was there seen gesticulating wildly, waving his hand towards the ocean, and shouting apparently with his utmost strength. The roar of the waters, however, as they were hurled against the cliff, added to the howling of the tempest, created a noise so deafening that even the two seamen, accustomed even in the hurricane to make their voices heard, could with difficulty hear each other speak.

Their first glance, as they came in sight of the sea, was in search of the ship of which Lawrence had told them.

“Too true, there she is,” exclaimed Morton, while a sickening feeling came over his heart.

Morton and his friend lifted their glasses to their eyes mechanically, for they could scarcely have expected to have discovered more than their unaided sight would have told them.

“She is the Spanish corvette, there’s no doubt about it,” shouted Morton to his companion, who, however, could scarcely hear what else he said, as he added: “All the poor fellows on board can hope to do is to put off this fatal moment, though I doubt not they have some notion of making Yell Sound; but the sight of Ronas Hill must, if they look at their charts, show them that they cannot fail to drive on shore long before they could reach it.”

“Even now that ship might be saved, or, at all events, the lives of her people, if she had a pilot on board to carry her into Yell Sound,” shouted Captain Maitland. “What say you, Rolf?”

“That if mortal power could carry a man on board her, I would go,” answered Morton. “But what boat could live in such a sea as that?”

“If a boat built and manned by human hands can live in this sea, there is one this moment in Hamna Voe as well able to do so as any which floats on water,” answered Maitland. “Some of her crew may be at their hut even now, though the gale will have given those who live nearest a holiday, and they probably have gone to their houses.”

The voe alluded to was a small but deep one, forming a good harbour on the north side of Navie Grind. High rugged rocks formed the sides, but there was a pathway down them to the water. Towards the inner end there was a piece of level ground, sloping up from the beach; here the fishermen had built a shed, which served them as a dwelling during the fishing season. It was a long, low edifice, composed both of mud and blocks of rock, but chiefly of timber, fragments of wreck cast up on the beach. The doorway was the only aperture, and this served not only for the ingress and egress of the inhabitants, but to admit light, and to allow such part of the smoke from the fire in the centre as ever found its way into the open air to escape; a considerable portion, it appeared clinging to the walls and rafters, which were thoroughly blackened by it, giving it a somewhat gloomy aspect. On one side were piled up masts, and spars, and oars; and sails, and nets, and coils of rope were hung against the walls or on the beams overhead; while, on the other, were a row of bunks or standing bed places, formed out of fragments of wreck-wood. Three or four men, seated on casks or three-legged stools, were busily plying their netting-needles, while several others were fast asleep on the bunks. The pathway, down which Morton and his companions hurried, led close down to the shed. His announcement, as he entered, that there was a ship in sight, partly dismasted, made all hands, the sleepers as well as the workers, spring to their feet. They looked rather blank, however, when Captain Maitland, who entered directly after, added:

“Remember, lads, we must have none of the old customs of the island put in practice, understand that. We want to save the ship if we can, or the lives of those on board. Come, lads, they are fellow-creatures—seamen like ourselves, in distress. Where is the faint-hearted coward who would leave them to perish without lifting a hand to save them. Such a fellow is not to be found among Shetlanders, I hope.”

This appeal had an instant effect. When the men heard that Captain Maitland and Rolf Morton proposed going out in their boat to assist the disabled ship, they agreed to lend her, and to accompany them, the captain undertaking to make good any damage which might accrue, even to the loss of the boat herself.

The boat, the largest of the class used for fishing on that coast, pulled twelve oars, and, what with the men belonging to her, and those who had come from Hillswick, as fine a crew as ever manned a boat was collected. The oars and other gear being placed in her, the next thing to be done was to launch her; and while this operation was taking place, Morton and his friend ascended the cliff, to ascertain the position of the corvette, and what prospect there was of getting on board her. As they climbed up the path they observed that the wind had somewhat abated, and this gave them greater hopes of getting to sea. A moment’s glance, however, told them, when they reached the top of the cliff, that all hope of saving the ship must be abandoned. Perhaps the Spaniards, mistaking Saint Magnus’s Bay for the entrance of Yell Sound, she had been kept away and then hauled up again; but there she was drifting bodily down towards the terrific headland on which they stood.

Callous and cold-hearted indeed must be the man who can witness with indifference a scene such as that at which the two seamen now gazed—the proud ship, which but the day before had left the shore in such gallant trim, now shattered and crippled, struggling on amid the giant seas which were about, in a few short moments, to hurl her to destruction.

“Nothing can save her, I fear,” cried Morton, his generous heart wrung with sorrow.

“Nothing,” answered his older companion; “still, by the will of Providence, we may be able to save the lives of some of the people on board; but we must wait and see where she strikes: if we were to attempt to get out to her now we should only involve ourselves in her fate.”

“If she fails to weather Ossa Skerry she will drift right down on Navie Grind, and then Heaven have mercy on their souls, for no human being on board can escape,” said Captain Maitland. “A few minutes must settle the point.”

“Luff, luff all you can, men,” he exclaimed, as if those on board could hear him. Probably they had caught sight of the terrific sea breaking over the cliffs, and still hoped to weather the little island under their lee bow.

All this time Lawrence Brindister kept his post, with his pony and dog by his side, waving his arms towards the ship, and apparently shouting out as before.

“She will weather the Skerry even now,” cried Morton, but at that instant a squall—one of the last blasts of the tempest—struck her. Over went her mainmast, her head fell off from the sea, on she flew amid showers of foam, and in another minute she was hid to view by the rocky island before them. In vain they hoped against hope to see her appear on the other side. Her fate was indeed sealed. There was only one spot where even in moderate weather a landing could be without difficulty effected on Ossa Skerry. Still Morton and his friend resolved to attempt it. There was not a moment to be lost, already, probably, numbers of the hapless crew were being swept to destruction. They hurried down the cliff, sprang on board the boat, and shoved off. Morton steered: with rapid strokes they pulled down the remainder of the voe; even there heavy waves rolled in and showed the crew the sort of sea with which they would have to contend when they got outside. Few but Shetlanders would have attempted to face such a sea, and the finest of boats alone could have lived in it. They reached the mouth of the voe; their passage through the mouth was the first danger they had to encounter; a huge sea came thundering in.

“Back off all,” cried Morton; and instead of forcing the boat onward, she slowly receded before the wave, which broke in a loud crash directly before her, the foam flying over her bows and deluging her fore and aft. “Now, lads, give way,” shouted Morton again, and before the next sea broke, the boat had got into deep water. They now encountered the full force of the gale; and none but a boat admirably manned, as was theirs, could have made headway against it, nor could she have escaped being instantly swamped, unless steered with the greatest caution and judgment. Now she rose on the top of a sea surrounded with foam, now she plunged down into the trough, and those standing on the rocks, at the mouth of the voe, feared more than once that she had sunk for ever. Again she rose on the side of the opposite sea; the summit was reached; but once more she disappeared beyond it. At times it seemed as if scarcely any way was made, but still the bold seamen persevered; the lives of some of their fellow-creatures depended on their exertions—how many it was impossible to say, till they had ascertained where the ship had gone on shore. They knew that in all probability in a few minutes, even should the ship hold together, numbers must be swept off from the decks.

Morton’s object was to get sufficiently out to sea to ascertain the position of the ship. The rapid diminution of the strength of the wind enabled him to do this with greater ease than had at first appeared possible; still the sea came rolling in as fiercely as before, and rendered the greatest caution necessary to prevent the boat being swamped. At last they got sufficiently to the westward to look along the outer side of Ossa Skerry. No ship was to be seen. Had she foundered, or was it possible that in so short a time she had so completely gone to pieces that not a particle of the wreck was to be seen? If so, not a soul on board could have escaped.

“Poor girl!” thought Morton; “it will break the heart of Bertha Eswick to hear of it; and my wife, too—it will make her very sad.”

“We will pull out a little further, Rolf,” said Captain Maitland. “There is a little bay, or bight, nearly at the south-east of the rock—if the ship by chance drove in there we should not see her from hence.”

“Give way, lads!” shouted Morton, with hope revived by his friend’s remark.

In a short time they opened the little bay of which Captain Maitland spoke. There lay the ship almost broadside on with the shore, her stern apparently under an overhanging cliff, while her bow, over which the sea made a clean breach, seemed to hang on a rock, and was thus prevented from being driven further in. Her masts and bowsprit were gone by the board: and from the force with which the sea was breaking over her, it seemed scarcely possible that she could herself keep much longer together. An attempt to approach her from the seaside would have proved the destruction of the boat. The only chance of rendering assistance was to land on the east side of the island. Hitherto the boat’s head had been kept directly towards the seas as they came rolling in. It was far more dangerous work crossing them as they had now to do, to reach the inner side of the island. Often Morton and his friend watched the foaming masses of water, as they came roaring towards them, with no little anxiety; but by pulling round to face the larger ones, and by then rapidly giving way, the boat at length got under the lee of the islet. To obtain footing on the slippery rock was a work of considerable difficulty, and still greater was it to climb to the summit and to convey them the ropes and spars which they had brought with them. Some of the men remained to take care of the boat, for that alone was not an easy task, as had she been carried away by the sea, the whole party might have been starved before assistance could have come to them. The remainder proceeded, as rapidly as they could, across the island. With more anxiety than they had often felt, Morton and the captain hurried towards the edge of the cliff. Before even reaching it the appearance which the foaming water presented, even some way from the shore, told them too plainly the destruction which had already occurred; while the fearful shrieks, which even through the roar of the angry waters came up from below, warned them that every instant fresh victims were being added to those who had already fallen a sacrifice to the tempest.

Among fragments of masts, and spars, and planks, and other parts of the ship, were seen the forms of numerous human beings, some yet struggling, but struggling in vain, for life; others floating helplessly among the pieces of wreck, or clinging to them with a convulsive clutch, while many, already lifeless, were tossed to and fro in the boiling caldron, happier than those who were seen every now and then, as they were swept off, to throw up their arms, and then, with a fearful shriek of despair, to sink from sight.

On gaining the edge of the cliff, Morton and Captain Mainland threw themselves on the ground and looked over. The fore part of the vessel had already been knocked to pieces. A few men still clung to part of the bulwarks in the waist; but the sea was making a clean breach over it, and one by one they were torn from their treacherous hold and carried off by the waves. The only part of the wreck which yet afforded a precarious shelter was the poop. The mainmast, in falling, had been washed across it, and the end jamming against the cliff, it formed a breakwater, within which a group of people yet stood, almost paralysed with terror and despair, for the precipitous cliff above them afforded not the slightest prospect of escape, while the violent shaking of the wreck, and the rapid advances of the waves, showed them that in a few minutes even that uncertain foothold would be carried from beneath them.

Morton and his friend beckoned to their companions to bring on the ropes. It was the work of a few seconds to uncoil them and to make one end fast to the spars they had brought. These they fixed in the ground, two of them holding on at the same time to the upper part of the spars.

Not till all the preparations were made did Morton shout to those below to let them know that aid was at hand. In the centre of the group was a female form—that it was Hilda there could be little doubt. The rope was lowered with a pair of slings at the end of it. How anxiously did those both above and below watch its descent! The end dropped some way from the stern of the ship; it seemed a question whether it was within reach of those whose existence depended on clutching it. A seaman sprang towards it as it swung backwards and forwards in the gale, but he missed his aim, and fell headlong into the seething water, which soon silenced his death shriek. Another, an officer apparently, made the attempt; he had secured a line round his body, he clutched the rope and dragged it inboard. Even at that moment Spanish gallantry was maintained; no undue haste was shown by any to secure their own lives. The first care of the men was to secure Hilda in the slings; this was speedily done, but it was soon seen that if she was hauled up by herself she would run great risk of being thrown against the side of the cliff and severely injured. The officer who had hauled in the rope accordingly secured himself to it, and made a sign to those above to hoist away. The fearful rocking of the ship made them do this with all the speed of which they were capable. At any moment the ship might go to pieces; Morton stood nearest the edge. At length the head of Pedro Alvarez appeared, and while with one arm he kept the end of the rope from dashing against the cliff, with the other he supported the almost inanimate form of Hilda Wardhill. She was speedily released from the rope, which was again lowered, while Captain Maitland and one of the men carried her to a hollow in the downs, which afforded some shelter from the wind. The brave lieutenant made signs that he was going to descend again, but Morton, who saw that it would be useless, refused to allow him. The rope was lowered; “Haul away!” he shouted, and in a little time the priest, Father Mendez, appeared. He was unloosed also, more dead than alive; the rope was lowered, but scarcely had it reached the deck when a raging sea came roaring up—fearful shrieks were heard—the mast was torn away from its hold in the rock—a rush was made at the rope; one man grasped it, but others in their haste dragged him off, and the next instant the remainder of the wreck which hung together was dashed into numberless fragments, while all who had clung to it were hurled amidst them, one after the other rapidly disappearing beneath the foaming waters.

Morton and the Shetlanders looked anxiously over the cliff. It was too evident that not another human being had escaped from the wreck of the “Saint Cecilia.”

“There goes the brave ship, and there go my gallant captain and worthy comrades,” cried Pedro Alvarez, wringing his hands and pulling away at his moustachios in the excess of his grief, as he looked over the cliff and watched the utter destruction of the corvette. The priest, when he had sufficiently recovered to understand what had occurred, knelt down, and those who watched him supposed, as he lifted up his hands over the ocean, that he was uttering prayers for the souls of his departing shipmates. Meantime Captain Maitland was kneeling by the almost inanimate form of Hilda, and endeavouring by every means which his experience could suggest to restore her to consciousness. At length he was joined by Father Mendez. “Let her continue thus, kind sir,” he said. “It is better that she should not be aware of the calamity which has overtaken her.”

Morton also, followed by the Spanish lieutenant, came up. “We can render no further assistance to the crew of the unfortunate ship,” he observed; “not another person who was on board her remains alive but those we have here.”

With the most gentle care poor Hilda was conveyed to the boat, which pulled back towards Hamna Voe.

The priest shuddered as he saw the seas from which he had so lately escaped come rolling up on the boat’s quarter, but his compressed lips showed that he was resolved not to give way to his feelings in words. Sea followed sea in quick succession, and Morton’s utmost care was required to save the boat from being swamped. All breathed more freely when the entrance of the voe was safely reached. As they pulled up it, Morton heard some shouts. On raising his head, he saw Lawrence Brindister standing on a height overlooking the voe. He was whirling his arms wildly about as before, and peering down to ascertain who was in the boat. When he discovered a female, he apparently guessed that she was his cousin Hilda; and striking little Neogle, he turned the pony’s head, and rode off as fast as the creature could gallop. The boat continued her course to the head of the voe.

A rough litter being formed, Hilda was conveyed to Captain Maitland’s house; but as she continued plunged in a state of stupor, Father Mendez advised that she should at once be taken to her home. His advice seemed so judicious, that Morton offered to carry her there in his boat. Captain Maitland also expressed a wish to be of the party, and the next morning, accompanied by Pedro Alvarez and Father Mendez, they embarked for Lunnasting. The only person who appeared on the landing-place was Lawrence Brindister. He stood, hat in hand, with a mocking expression on his countenance, and he was beginning to address the party when his eye fell on Hilda. Her appearance seemed to touch his heart, for he said nothing, but, turning round, walked slowly back before them to the castle.

It is needless to describe the dismay and astonishment which poor Hilda’s return excited in the establishment. Lawrence had evidently in no way warned them of what had occurred. Bertha Eswick had need of all her self-possession and presence of mind to perform her duty. It was many days before Hilda returned to a state of consciousness! In the meantime, Father Mendez took up his abode in the castle; and, from the way in which Pedro Alvarez settled himself in his apartment, it looked as if he also intended to be a permanent guest at Lunnasting.