Part 4

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

“The peace of God, beyond expression sweet, Filled every being humbled at his feet.”

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.

FOOTNOTES

[3] The Seven Stones are dangerous rocks lying between the Scilly Isles and the Land’s End.

[4] A small bird, like a swallow, that is scarcely ever seen except previously to or during a gale of wind. It is viewed with a superstitious feeling by seamen, who call it “Mother Carey’s Chicken.”

[5] Salvage is a sum of money allowed to individuals who are instrumental in saving a ship from being wrecked.

THE RED FLAG AT THE FORE.

“Come, sit thee down by me, love; come, sit thee down by me, And I will tell thee many a tale of the dangers of the sea,-- Of the perils of the deep, love; when the stormy tempests roar, And the raging billows wildly dash upon the groaning shore.

The skies are flaming red, love, the skies are flaming red, And darkly rolls the mountain wave, and curls its monstrous head; Whilst clouds and ocean blending, and loud howls the bitter blast, And the daring tar, ’twixt life and death, clings to the shattered mast.”

Never shall I forget my emotions on first ascending the side of the ship, in which I commenced my career as a sailor. It was just about the time when Nelson and the Nile was the universal theme of conversation; our theatres echoed to the shouts of “Rule Britannia,” and the senate-house rang with plaudits for the achievements of naval valour. But ah! how few who rejoiced in the triumphs of victory, gave one thought to the hardships, privations, and oppressions under which the gallant seaman laboured. Boy-like, I thought it was a jovial life; and when standing on the deck, with the British ensign floating at the peak, and the bull-dogs (cannon) peeping from their port-holes, I felt, “ay, every inch a hero.” Besides, there was my handsome uniform, with bright gilt buttons bearing the impress of the anchor, and my dirk, just long enough to spit a partridge, swinging like a cook’s skewer by my side, and a leathern belt with two fierce lions’ heads in front, and that summit of a school-boy’s ambition, the cocked hat and gold rosettes. What child of twelve years could resist the temptation! So I e’en kissed my poor mother, who used to compare the rattling of the rain, as it ran down the spout into the water-butt, to the roaring of the waves, and for whom gilded buttons and cocked-up hats had no charms,--shook my father by the hand, as he gave me the bill for my outfit, to make me (by calculating the expense) more careful of my clothes,--threw my arms round the neck of my weeping sister, who slyly thrust something into my waistcoat pocket, which I afterwards found was all her own private little store of cash,--and away I started with glory in my eye, to leave “home, sweet home” far, far behind me.

The ship which I was going to join, was a fine dashing frigate, commanded by a friend of my father’s friend, to whom I received the most handsome recommendations. I say friend of my father’s friend, for such he was represented to me; but the fact is, my worthy dad was a freeman of no contemptible borough, besides holding a considerable influence over a certain number of _independent_ voters, and one of the candidates, whilst canvassing for the general election, had declared that “I was cut out for a sailor,”--that “he had interest at the Admiralty,” and made no doubt that by diligence and attention I should soon carry the “red flag at the fore.” I thought so too; but what the “red flag at the fore” meant, I was just as ignorant as I was of cuckoo-clock making. Nevertheless, it sounded well, the candidate became an M. P., and I was sent on board a stranger amongst strangers, and about as much patronised as a widow’s pig upon a village green.

I had never seen a ship,--I had never seen the sea; and when the wide ocean burst upon my view, rolling its mighty billows in majectic grandeur, I began to think that they were not the most pleasant things in life to play with, particularly for such a little fellow as myself; but, when the stupendous bulwarks of Britain appeared, as they lay at anchor in the bay, with their shining sides reflected on the waves and their bright ensigns flashing in the sun, fear gave way to admiration, and I began to sing--

“I’m a jolly roving tar, Fearing neither wound nor scar, And many a tightish breeze then have I seen.”

But, bless your heart! I had seen nothing then; nevertheless, I thought of the “red flag at the fore,” and as the boat lightly skimmed the surface of the dark blue waters, a feeling of honest pride swelled in my little breast;--henceforth I was to be devoted to my king and country.

The first-lieutenant received me very graciously. The wonders which every where presented themselves almost overwhelmed me with astonishment and delight. But, alas! this was not of long duration; for a youngster about my own age accompanied me to the cockpit, where I was to take up my abode. The dark cavern which formed the mess-berth, where a ray of daylight never entered, seemed rather horrible to my imagination, and the motley group of all ages from ten to twenty-five that filled it, did not inspire me with much confidence.

At the door stood a stout negro, scarcely visible except by his white teeth and his rolling eyes, which strongly reminded me of Robinson Crusoe’s monster in the cave, and a little sprig of a midshipman was venting imprecations on him for not having the dinner ready. Surrounding a table inside the berth, which was illumined by two _dwarf_ candles, that appeared as if they had never reached their proper growth, sat eight or ten small officers, employed in various ways. One was playing a difficult piece of music on the flute, with the notes placed before him, propped up by a quart bottle; a companion, to annoy and ridicule him, had put his pocket comb between two pieces of paper, and applying it to his mouth, produced a sound more execrable than the bagpipes, yet still endeavouring to imitate the tune. Two youths in the farthest corner had quarrelled, and were settling their disputes in a boxing-match. Another seemed totally abstracted from the scene, and leaning his elbows on the table, was contemplating the miniature of a fair-haired girl, whose mild blue eyes beamed with love and constancy. On the opposite side of the table two youngsters, with a treatise on seamanship before them, were arguing in no very gentle terms on their own proficiency in naval tactics. At the head of the table an old master’s-mate was exercising his authority in preserving peace; but as he was engaged at the same time in mixing a good _stiff_ glass of grog, his orders were either disregarded or laughed at. But there was one pale-faced lad, with a countenance full of intellectual expression, whom I shall never forget. He sat by himself, with a small writing desk before him, and on it lay a letter, the writer of which, not satisfied with filling up each page with black ink, had crossed the lines with red, and this letter he was endeavouring to answer. The noise had disturbed him, for sheet after sheet had been torn up, and lay in a pile by his side. He looked at the combatants, and a gentle murmur escaped him; he turned to the musicians, and a smile lighted up his features; he cast his eyes towards the youth whose thoughts were with the pole-star of his affections, and a shade of melancholy sat upon his brow. At this moment he caught sight of me, as I stood at the door, undetermined whether to advance or recede, and his hand was instantly extended. He closed his desk, remarking that “his sister must wait another day,” and--but why need I recount every particular?--from that hour we were friends.

Ay, how often when the pale moon at midnight has thrown her silver beams upon the bosom of the wave, or when the star-gemmed canopy of heaven has glistened with its myriads of glories, have we two stood together holding sweet converse on the past, and picturing bright scenes of future fame. Yes! hand in hand, we have stood like brothers talking of those sweet spots, endeared by every tie of fond regard, where first we revelled in our infancy. Yet, oh God!--the vision is even now before me--when I beheld that pale-faced youth struggling in the agonies of death,--those features full of mild benevolence, still more deadly in their hue and hideous in convulsive writhings,--the hand that I had so often pressed with real unabated friendship, dyed in the lifestream from his heart, as he worked his fingers in the deep wound that dismissed his noble spirit! It was in action, when rage and vengeance lashed the passions into fury. Yes! there he fell, and the ocean was his grave.

But to return to my introduction. Almost at the same moment that I entered the berth, a quarter-master came down and inquired if Mr. Moriarty was below. A fine handsome young man, about two-and-twenty, immediately answered in the affirmative. “Here’s a letter for you, sir,” said the quarter-master, “with the Admiralty seal on the back, and a direction full of sheep-shanks and long splices on the face of it.”

“Ay! ay! Johnson,” replied the young officer, “the old story I suppose:--‘the door of promotion is shut,’ and by and by I dare say they will send me word that the key’s lost. But let us see, you old sea-dragon, and don’t stand turning it over and over there, like a Lapland witch at her incantations!”

The veteran was examining the letter with rather an inquisitive eye; for his other eye was on an equally inquisitorial visit to a full bottle of rum that stood upon the table, and he hesitated to give up his charge to the young officer, who I now perceived had his right arm in a sling in consequence, as I afterwards learned, of a wound received in the battle of Aboukir.

“Cantations or no cantations, sir,” replied the old quarter-master, “this here letter weighs heavy, and I have been close-hauled for these two days past; and it’s dry work, sir, that tack and half tack.”

“Well, well, Johnson,” rejoined the midshipman, “you want a glass of grog, and you shall have it; so, steward, give him one, d’ye hear. And now hand over the scrawl.”

“Ay, ay, sir!” said Johnson, “and if it arn’t freighted with a pair of white lapels--put some more rum in, you black angel!--then call old Johnson a lubber, that’s all.” Moriarty laughed; but it was evident that he took the letter with some degree of tremour, especially as one of the youngsters jocosely addressed him as _Lieutenant_ Moriarty.

“Hold your prating, simpleton,” said he, “you wont find commissions so plentiful when you come to my age, unless you happen to be a stray slip of nobility, or have strong parliamentary interest to back you.”

The old quarter-master had been wrangling with the black steward for another drop, and then holding up his grog, exclaimed, “Your health, Lieutenant Moriarty! and I hope I shall live to see you carry ‘the red flag at the fore.’”

“With all my heart, Johnson,” replied Moriarty, his eyes sparkling with pleasure, for the letter was now unfolded; “and see, here is the first step up the ratlines sure enough; whether I shall ever reach the mast-head or not is another thing.”

It was an order from the Admiralty to go on shore and receive his commission, and every one crowded round him full of congratulations. I cannot say but I felt a little jealous about the “red flag at the fore,” for I considered _that_ as my exclusive right, though utterly ignorant of what it meant. But I was soon enlightened upon the subject, for being naturally communicative, I mentioned my expectations of getting “the red flag at the fore” during dinner, and several of the little midshipmen nearly choked themselves with laughing at me. I then learned that the “red flag at the fore” was the distinction of a vice-admiral of the red; a station that not more than one officer in five thousand ever attained, and even then only through very distinguished merit or peculiar good fortune. Nevertheless, I was nothing daunted, and the “red flag at the fore” urged me on.

We sailed a few days afterwards with a convoy for Bombay and China, but destined to cruise ourselves in the neighbourhood of the Cape of Good Hope. We had not quitted port more than a week, when we encountered a very severe gale. It was the first time I had beheld the sea in such commotion, and the spectacle was awfully grand. The noble ship was borne like a weed upon the ocean at the mercy of the tempest, which howled through the rigging so as to deaden the shouts of the seamen while furling the heavy sails upon the yards. Billow after billow beat over us, and as the rolling waves dashed up their frothy crests to heaven, roaring in the wildness of their fury, I could not help thinking how different the noise was from the comparison of my poor mother, when she heard the rain patter into the water-butt. The convoy, too, heavy-laden Indiamen and transports with troops, were scattered in every direction; but now and then we could distinguish one or two, as they appeared for a moment on the summit of the foaming surge, like dim specks upon the verge of the horizon.

Night came and brought its frowning horrors; a pitchy darkness which seemed almost palpable to the touch, hung with a funeral gloom above, whilst the wild waves, lashed by the raging tempest into sparkling foam, served but to render the blackness of the heavens more dense and horrible. At the commencement of the gale the wind was dead against us, and the ship was hove-to under a close-reefed main-topsail; but towards midnight the wind veered in our favour, and we flew through the liquid element with astonishing rapidity. The shifting of the gale had produced a still wilder commotion in the waves, which seemed to be struggling for the mastery. Wave after wave came raging after us and threatening to ingulf the frigate; but, like a bird upon the wing, the gallant vessel lifted to the swell and rushed down the steep abyss, tracking her path with brilliancy and light.

I cannot say but the spectacle rather terrified me, and more than once I wished the “red flag at the fore” at the--

“Stop,” says the reader, “and do not conclude the sentence.” But really, gentle reader, I must; for I was merely going to say that I wished the “red flag at the fore” at the mast-head, and myself snug in my own little bed-room with my poor mother to tie my night-cap, and to tuck me in.

Ossian or Byron, I forget which, says: “Once more upon the waters, yet once more, and the waves bound beneath me as a steed that knows his rider;” but I found a vast deal of difference between mounting the speckled waves and riding my own pretty little piebald pony. Morning at length appeared; the wind had again changed, and the ship was once more hove-to. But if the gale of the preceding night had been furious, it now came with redoubled violence, and the stately vessel which had so lately steered her course in majesty and pride, lay writhing and groaning between the billows like the soul of the mighty smuggling with the last pangs of mortality.

Orders were given to furl the foresail, and about sixty of the best seamen sprang aloft to execute the command. Already had they extended themselves upon the yard, and were gathering up the folds of the heavy canvass, when a tremendous sea came like an Alpine mountain rushing towards us. As the poor wretch, when the fierce eye of some famished beast of prey is glaring on him, stands fixed and immovable, so did the seamen suspend their labours when they saw the waters of destruction approaching. No human voice could warn them of their danger, no hand could be outstretched to save. There seemed to be a momentary stillness in the storm, and a shuddering instinct crept through every spirit,--a horrible dread of they knew not what.

Still onward rolled the wave; it struck the vessel on the bows, and threw its ponderous burden on the deck. A crash mingled with a wild tumultuous yell ensued, and when the spray had cleared, it was found that the fore-mast had been swept away, and upwards of fifty brave fellows were buried in the waves. Some still remained entangled in the rigging; but man after man was washed away till one alone was left. We could see him--we could speak to him--but only that Power who holds the tempests in his hands could rescue him from death. There he struggled; blank despair in every feature, as his strong limbs writhed round the shattered mast, and with convulsive agony he buffeted the waves. Of what avail was human strength in such an hour of peril? His hold relaxed;--it became weaker, and slowly he settled in his watery grave.

I need not describe the effects which such a scene produced upon the mind of a boy not thirteen years of age, and even at this moment,--so strong are first impressions,--the crash, the yell, and the agonized contortions of that drowning man, are present to my mind in all their horrors.

The wreck was cleared, the storm abated; a jury-mast was erected, and once more the stately frigate held her way upon the glossy surface of the azure wave. The first duty was to collect the convoy, and heavy forebodings of their fate were whispered among the crew. One by one, however, they gathered round us, showing manifest indications of the recent storm.

There is something peculiarly interesting to a seaman in the assembling of ships after a gale of wind; it occasions a sensation which a landsman can never feel, unless it is that sort of melancholy satisfaction when friends meet who have surmounted adversity together, but with the apprehension of similar calamity before them. Several of the convoy were yet undiscovered, and as the evening was closing in, the heavy report of a distant gun came booming on the waters. Another and another followed in rapid succession, and the frigate’s course was directed towards the spot from whence the sounds proceeded.

The sun went down in glory; its radiance tinged the bosom of the liquid element, but it never rose again on those whose signals of distress we heard. They must have seen his last beams arching the heavens with their golden brightness, and light and hope must have expired to them for ever.

The wind opposed our progress, and the swell still rolled against us, though now it was only the heaving of the sea without its breaking violence. Still we approached nearer to the object of our search, as the noise of the guns was more distinct, and the flashes were plainly visible. At length, about midnight, by the help of glasses, a dismasted ship was distinguished rolling like a log upon the waters. Every nerve was strained, every effort was made to intimate that assistance was at hand, and the boats were prepared to give succour, or to snatch from destruction. The sight was eagerly bent towards the spot where the clear horizon was broken by the dark object of our good intentions. Suddenly the curve appeared connected; in vain the eye sought the vessel in distress; for nothing obstructed the view of sky and ocean, and “She’s gone! she’s gone!” was simultaneously exclaimed by officers and men.

Yes! she was gone; and the gallant ship, that had endured the fury of the tempest, sunk when its wrath was spent. But that tempest had doubtless shaken her stout frame and rent her joints asunder. Yet it was hard to perish almost within the grasp of safety.

Hopes were still entertained that some, if not all, had escaped in the boats. Our own were hoisted out, and having neared the supposed spot, were immediately despatched. The morning dawned in magnificence and splendour; the sun rose in glorious majesty, but his earliest beams glanced on a scattered wreck that told a tale of death. The boats were actively employed in passing to and fro, but no appearance of human being could be discerned. The launch was discovered bottom upwards, and another boat broken nearly in two. The truth was soon disclosed, for the name, ATLAS, on the stern of the launch, informed us that nearly two hundred victims had perished in the deep. How the catastrophe had happened could only be matter for conjecture.