Part 3 (2/2)

Next day, when Jeff--having got rid of the nose-plaster, and removed the mud, and brushed the dishevelled hair, and put on dry garments--paid another visit to Miss Millet, the Rosebud formed a more correct estimate of her condition, became alarmed, and shrank like a sensitive plant before the gaze of the coastguardsman; insomuch that she drove him to the conclusion that he had no hope whatever in that quarter, and that he was foolish to think of her seriously. What _was_ she, after all? A mere chit of a school girl! It was ridiculous. He would heave her overboard forthwith, and trouble his head no more about her. He would not, however, give up visiting his old confidante on _her_ account--oh dear, no!

It was wonderful what an amount of guarding seemed to be required by the coast in the vicinity of Miss Millet's cottage during the following week! Any one observing the frequency of Jeff's visits to it, and his prolonged earnest gazing at the sea, would have imagined that the ancient smuggling days had revived, or that the old tendency of the French to suddenly come o'er and find the Britons awaiting them on sh.o.r.e, was not yet extinct.

One evening our hero, after paying a little unwonted attention to his toilet prepared to set out for Miss Millet's cottage. He had obtained leave of absence for the evening, and had made up his mind to spend an hour or two in metaphysical discussion. Rose had not yet left her aunt but no matter. If she could not a.s.sist in the conversation, she could at all events listen, and might be benefited.

In pa.s.sing through the station, the officer on duty called to him.

”I want you, Benson, to take Wilson's place to-night. He is unwell and off duty. We may possibly require all our force, for the barometer has suddenly fallen much lower than usual.”

No shade of disappointment betrayed itself on the grave countenance of the well-disciplined Jeff as he replied, ”Very well, sir,” and went out; but profound disappointment nevertheless harrowed his broad bosom, for he had promised himself such a long and pleasant evening of discussion; possibly of benefit to the young girl for whom he cared nothing now--a mere pa.s.sing fancy, pooh! But even while ejecting the ”pooh!” he wondered why the disappointment was so severe. Was it possible that he was being taught by experience the lesson which Miss Millet's reasoning powers had failed to inculcate?

It was blowing hard when Jeff reached the cliffs, and, bending forward to the increasing blast made his way to the rugged coast which was to be the scene of his night vigil. As he stood on the sh.o.r.e with hands in pockets and legs apart, to steady himself, and gazed out upon the darkening sea, he saw plainly enough that the prophetic barometer was right. Far out on the water a ledge of rocks, barely covered at high water, caught the billows as they rolled sh.o.r.eward, broke them up, and sent them spouting into the air in volumes of foam. On the horizon the clouds were so black that the shrieking sea-birds pa.s.sed athwart them like flakes of snow. Low muttering thunder was heard at intervals; and as night drew on, gleams of lightning flashed in the obscurity.

During one of these flashes Jeff thought he saw a vessel labouring heavily. He could not be quite sure, for by that time spray, borne on the whistling wind, was blinding him. Suddenly a red flash was seen, followed by a report. It was a signal of distress.

Every thought and feeling save that of duty was instantly banished from the mind of our coastguardsman, as he hurried away to give the alarm and join in the rescue.

CHAPTER FOUR.

A WRECK AND RESCUE.

Terrible was the gale which burst that night upon the sh.o.r.es of old England, and awful the fate that awaited many of the vessels which were nearing port at the time. Better far for many of them had they met the foe in the open field of what seamen term blue water, for no place is so dangerous as the shallow waters off the coast when the storm-fiend is abroad.

Perhaps it may be news to some readers that the losses of this country by s.h.i.+pwreck form a perennial drain of life and wealth as regular and certain as the recurrence of the seasons. Nearly two thousand s.h.i.+ps, two millions sterling, and little short of a thousand lives are lost each year on the sh.o.r.es of the United Kingdom--sometimes more, sometimes less,--each and every year. We give round numbers, because they are more easily remembered.

On the particular night of which we write, many a gallant s.h.i.+p was driving over the sea, making for her port, nearing home and friends, rus.h.i.+ng to her doom! Pa.s.sengers and crews alike had by that time, doubtless, become so familiar with whistling gales and heaving seas, that they had ceased to fear them; but some among them had yet to learn, when too late, that the dangers of the deep are insignificant compared with the perils of the sh.o.r.e.

Among these hapless s.h.i.+ps was one to which we direct the reader's particular attention. She was a large s.h.i.+p, with a crew of between twenty and thirty men, bound from China to the Thames. She carried no pa.s.sengers, and was commanded by our friend, Captain Millet.

No captain in the mercantile navy of Britain was better qualified than he to take his s.h.i.+p across the trackless main, and, if need be, carry her safely into port; but seamans.h.i.+p and knowledge of channels and bars and currents avail nothing when the sails and cordage of a s.h.i.+p are unseaworthy and her timbers worn out.

The owners of the _North Star_ cared little for human lives. They were economists of the strictest kind. Hence her condition was bad.

The gale overtook the _North Star_ when she was not far from the coast where nestled her captain's native town of Cranby. A pilot had been signalled for in vain, for the night was thick as well as stormy. At last one was obtained, and all went fairly well until the vessel was off the black rocks on which the eyes of Jeff Benson had been resting for some time. Fearing that he was too near that point of danger, the pilot gave orders to go about. While the vessel was in stays, one of the ropes parted, and she missed. At the same moment a squall came down on her, and carried away the main and fore-topmasts with the jib-boom.

Instantly the vessel was unmanageable, and drifted bodily towards the rocks.

Captain Millet and his men toiled like heroes to clear away the wreckage, and orders were given to fire the signal-gun. As we have seen, our coastguardsman was swift to carry the alarm to his station, and without delay the lifeboat was launched. At the same time orders were given to get ready the coastguard boat, in case its services should be required.

The regular crew of the lifeboat had, as usual, been on the alert, and the bright blue boat of mercy was at once run down to the beach, until her carriage reached the edge of the foaming sea.

”Now, lads, jump in!” shouted the c.o.xswain.

It was found, however, when they had taken their places and seized the oars, that two of the crew were missing. Volunteers were instantly called for, and Jeff, with his friend David Bowers, answered to the call. They put on the cork life-belts, took the vacant seats, and grasped the oars. Then the transporting carriage, with the boat and crew on it, was pushed by many willing hands as far into the sea as possible, the men bending forward with the oars out, ready to pull at a moment's notice.

The launching ropes were already manned. At another signal from the c.o.xswain, the boat plunged into the boiling surf, the oars were dipped, ten strong backs were bent, and away they shot on their errand of mercy--drenched and filled by the first great billow through which they cut their way, but not swamped, for the water ran out through the discharging tubes as fast as it came in.

<script>