Part 61 (1/2)
”And Joe Harper, the blacksmith,” I interposed.
”They're there, sir.”
”You don't mean those two--just those two--are drowned?” I said.
”No, sir; I don't say that; but G.o.d knows they have little chance.”
I could not help thinking that G.o.d might know they were not in the smallest danger. But I only begged him to tell me where they were.
”Do you see that schooner there, just between you and the Castle-rock?”
”No,” I answered; ”I can see nothing. Stay. I fancy I can. But I am always ready to fancy I see a thing when I am told it is there. I can't say I see it.”
”I can, though. The gentleman you mean, and Joe Harper too, are, I believe, on board of that schooner.”
”Is she aground?”
”O dear no, sir. She's a light craft, and can swim there well enough.
If she'd been aground, she'd ha' been ash.o.r.e in pieces hours ago. But whether she'll ride it out, G.o.d only knows, as I said afore.”
”How ever did they get aboard of her? I never saw her from the heights opposite.”
”You were all taken up by the s.h.i.+p ash.o.r.e, you see, sir. And she don't make much show in this light. But there she is, and they're aboard of her. And this is how it was.”
He went on to give me his part of the story; but I will now give the whole of it myself, as I have gathered and pieced it together.
Two men had been swept overboard, as Roxton said--one of them was Percivale--but they had both got on board again, to drift, oarless, with the rest--now in a windless valley--now aloft on a tempest-swept hill of water--away towards a goal they knew not, neither had chosen, and which yet they could by no means avoid.
A little out of the full force of the current, and not far from the channel of the small stream, which, when the tide was out, flowed across the sands nearly from the ca.n.a.l gates to the Castle-rock, lay a little schooner, belonging to a neighbouring port, Boscastle, I think, which, caught in the storm, had been driven into the bay when it was almost dark, some considerable time before the great s.h.i.+p. The master, however, knew the ground well. The current carried him a little out of the wind, and would have thrown him upon the rocks next, but he managed to drop anchor just in time, and the cable held; and there the little schooner hung in the skirts of the storm, with the jagged teeth of the rocks within an arrow flight. In the excitement of the great wreck, no one had observed the danger of the little coasting bird. If the cable held till the tide went down, and the anchor did not drag, she would be safe; if not, she must be dashed to pieces.
In the schooner were two men and a boy: two men had been washed overboard an hour or so before they reached the bay. When they had dropped their anchor, they lay down exhausted on the deck. Indeed they were so worn out that they had been unable to drop their sheet anchor, and were holding on only by their best bower. Had they not been a good deal out of the wind, this would have been useless. Even if it held she was in danger of having her bottom stove in by b.u.mping against the sands as the tide went out. But that they had not to think of yet. The moment they lay down they fell fast asleep in the middle of the storm. While they slept it increased in violence.
Suddenly one of them awoke, and thought he saw a vision of angels. For over his head faces looked down upon him from the air--that is, from the top of a great wave. The same moment he heard a voice, two of the angels dropped on the deck beside him, and the rest vanished. Those angels were Percivale and Joe. And angels they were, for they came just in time, as all angels do--never a moment too soon or a moment too late: the schooner _was_ dragging her anchor. This was soon plain even to the less experienced eyes of the said angels.
But it did not take them many minutes now to drop their strongest anchor, and they were soon riding in perfect safety for some time to come.
One of the two men was the son of old Coombes, the s.e.xton, who was engaged to marry the girl I have spoken of in the end of the fourth chapter in the second volume.
Percivale's account of the matter, as far as he was concerned, was, that as they drifted helplessly along, he suddenly saw from the top of a huge wave the little vessel below him. They were, in fact, almost upon the rigging. The wave on which they rode swept the quarter-deck of the schooner.
Percivale says the captain of the lifeboat called out ”Aboard!” The captain said he remembered nothing of the sort. If he did, he must have meant it for the men on the schooner to get on board the lifeboat.
Percivale, however, who had a most chivalrous (ought I not to say Christian?) notion of obedience, fancying the captain meant them to board the schooner, sprang at her fore-shrouds. Thereupon the wave sweeping them along the schooner's side, Joe sprang at the main-shrouds, and they dropped on the deck together.
But although my reader is at ease about their fate, we who were in the affair were anything but easy at the time corresponding to this point of the narrative. It was a terrible night we pa.s.sed through.
When I returned, which was almost instantly, for I could do nothing by staring out in the direction of the schooner, I found that the crowd was nearly gone. One little group alone remained behind, the centre of which was a woman. Wynnie had disappeared. The woman who remained behind was Agnes Harper.
The moon shone out clear as I approached the group; indeed, the clouds were breaking-up and drifting away off the heavens. The storm had raved out its business, and was departing into the past.