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Michael Penguyne: Fisher Life on the Cornish Coast, a fiction by William H. G. Kingston |
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Chapter 1 |
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_ CHAPTER ONE. As the sun rose over the Lizard, the southernmost point of old England, his rays fell on the tanned sails of a fleet of boats bounding lightly across the heaving waves before a fresh westerly breeze. The distant shore, presenting a line of tall cliffs, towards which the boats were steering, still lay in the deepest shade. Each boat was laden with a large heap of nets and several baskets filled with brightly-shining fish. In the stern of one, tiller in hand, sat a strongly-built man, whose deeply-furrowed countenance and grizzled hair showed that he had been for many a year a toiler on the ocean. By his side was a boy of about twelve years of age, dressed in flushing coat and sou'wester, busily employed with a marline-spike, in splicing an eye to a rope's-end. The elder fisherman, now looking up at his sails, now stooping down to get a glance beneath them at the shore, and then turning his head towards the south-west, where heavy clouds were gathering fast, meanwhile cast an approving look at the boy. "Ye are turning in that eye smartly and well, Michael," he said. "Whatever you do, try and do it in that fashion. It has been my wish to teach you what is right as well as I know it. Try not only to please man, my boy, but to love and serve God, whose eye is always on you. Don't forget the golden rule either: 'Do to others as you would they should do to you.'" "I have always wished to understand what you have told me, and tried to obey you, father," said the boy. "You have been a good lad, Michael, and have more than repaid me for any trouble you may have caused me. You are getting a big boy now, though, and it's time that you should know certain matters about yourself which no one else is so well able to tell you as I am." The boy looked up from his work, wondering what Paul Trefusis was going to say. "You know, lad, that you are called Michael Penguyne, and that my name is Paul Trefusis. Has it never crossed your mind that though I have always treated you as a son--and you have ever behaved towards me as a good and dutiful son should behave--that you were not really my own child?" "To say the truth, I have never thought about it, father," answered the boy, looking up frankly in the old man's face. "I am oftener called Trefusis than Penguyne, so I fancied that Penguyne was another name tacked on to Michael, and that Trefusis was just as much my name as yours. And oh! father, I would rather be your child than the son of anybody else." "There is no harm in wishing that, Michael; but it's as well that you should know the real state of the case, and as I cannot say what may happen to me, I do not wish to put off telling you any longer. I am not as strong and young as I once was, and maybe God will think fit to take me away before I have reached the threescore years and ten which He allows some to live. We should not put off doing to another time what can be done now, and so you see I wish to say what has been on my mind to tell you for many a day past, though I have not liked to say it, lest it should in any way grieve you. You promise me, Michael, you won't let it do that? You know how much I and granny and Nelly love you, and will go on loving you as much as ever." "I know you do, father, and so do granny and Nelly; I am sure they love me," said the boy gazing earnestly into Paul's face, with wonder and a shade of sorrow depicted on his own countenance. "That's true," said Paul. "But about what I was going to say to you. "My wife, who is gone to heaven, Nelly's mother, and I, never had another child but her. Your father, Michael, as true-hearted a seaman as ever stepped, had been my friend and shipmate for many a long year. We were bred together, and had belonged to the same boat fishing off this coast till we were grown men, when at last we took it into our heads to wish to visit foreign climes, and so we went to sea together. After knocking about for some years, and going to all parts of the world, we returned home, and both fell in love, and married. Your mother was an orphan, without kith or kin, that your father could hear of--a good, pretty girl she was, and worthy of him. "We made up our minds that we would stay on shore and follow our old calling and look after our wives and families. We had saved some money, but it did not go as far as we thought it would, and we agreed that if we could make just one more trip to sea, we should gain enough for what we wanted. "You were about two years old, and my Nelly was just born. "We went to Falmouth, where ships often put in, wanting hands, and masters are ready to pay good wages to obtain them. We hadn't been there a day, when we engaged on board a ship bound out to the West Indies. As she was not likely to be long absent, this just suited us. Your father got a berth as third mate, for he was the best scholar, and I shipped as boatswain. "We made the voyage out, and had just reached the chops of the Channel, coming back, bound for Bristol, and hoping in a few days to be home again with our wives, when thick weather came on, and a heavy gale of wind sprang up. It blew harder and harder. Whether or not the captain was out of his reckoning I cannot say, but I suspect he was. Before long, our sails were blown away, and our foremast went by the board. We did our best to keep the ship off the shore, for all know well that it is about as dangerous a one as is to be found round England. "The night was dark as pitch, the gale still increasing. "'Paul,' said your father to me as we were standing together, 'you and I may never see another sun rise; but still one of us may escape. You remember the promise we made each other.' "'Yes, Michael,' I said, 'that I do, and hope to keep it.' "The promise was that if one should be lost and the other saved, he who escaped should look after the wife and family of the one who was lost. "I had scarcely answered him when the look-out forward shouted 'Breakers ahead!' and before the ship's course could be altered, down she came, crashing on the rocks. It was all up with the craft; the seas came dashing over her, and many of those on deck were washed away. The unfortunate passengers rushed up from below, and in an instant were swept overboard. "The captain ordered the remaining masts to be cut away, to ease the ship; but it did no good, and just as the last fell she broke in two, and all on board were cast into the water, I found myself clinging with your father to one of the masts. The head of the mast was resting on a rock. We made our way along it; I believed that others were following; but just as we reached the rock the mast was carried away, and he and I found that we alone had escaped. "The seas rose up foaming around us, and every moment we expected to be washed away. Though we knew many were perishing close around us we had no means of helping them. All we could do was to cling on and try and save our own lives. "'I hope we shall get back home yet, Michael,' I said, wishing to cheer your father, for he was more down-hearted than usual. "'I hope so, Paul, but I don't know; God's will be done, whatever that will is. Paul, you will meet me in heaven, I hope,' he answered, for he was a Christian man. 'If I am taken, you will look after Mary and my boy,' he added. Again I promised him, and I knew to a certainty that he would look after my Nelly, should he be saved and I drowned. "When the morning came at last scarcely a timber or plank of the wreck was to be seen. What hope of escape had either of us? The foaming waters raged around, and we were half perished with cold and hunger. On looking about I found a small spar washed up on the rock, and, fastening our handkerchiefs together, we rigged out a flag, but there was little chance of a boat putting off in such weather and coming near enough to see it. We now knew that we were not far off the Land's End, on one of two rocks called The Sisters, with the village of Senum abreast of us. "Your father and I looked in each other's faces; we felt that there was little hope that we should ever see our wives and infants again. Still we spoke of the promise we had made each other--not that there was any need of that, for we neither of us were likely to forget it. "The spring tides were coming on, and though we had escaped as yet, the sea might before long break over the rock and carry us away. Even if it did not we must die of hunger and thirst, should no craft come to our rescue. "We kept our eyes fixed on the distant shore; they ached with the strain we put on them, as we tried to make out whether any boat was being launched to come off to us. "A whole day passed--another night came on. We did not expect to see the sun rise again. Already the seas as they struck the rock sent the foam flying over us, and again and again washed up close to where we were sitting. "Notwithstanding our fears, daylight once more broke upon us, but what with cold and hunger we were well-nigh dead. "Your father was a stronger man than I fancied myself, and yet he now seemed most broken down. He could scarcely stand to wave our flag. "The day wore on, the wind veered a few points to the nor'ard, and the sun burst out now and then from among the clouds, and, just as we were giving up all hope, his light fell on the sails of a boat which had just before put off from the shore. She breasted the waves bravely. Was she, though, coming towards us? We could not have been seen so far off. Still on she came, the wind allowing her to be close-hauled to steer towards the rock. The tide meantime was rapidly rising. If she did not reach us soon, we knew too well that the sea would come foaming over the rock and carry us away. "I stood up and waved our flag. Still the boat stood on; the spray was beating in heavy showers over her, and it was as much as she could do to look up to her canvas. Sometimes as I watched her I feared that the brave fellows who were coming to our rescue would share the fate which was likely to befall us. She neared the rock. I tried to cheer up your father. "'In five minutes we shall be safe on board, Michael,' I said. "'Much may happen in five minutes, Paul; but you will not forget my Mary and little boy,' he answered. "'No fear of that,' I said; 'but you will be at home to look after them yourself.' "I tried to cheer as the boat came close to the rock, but my voice failed me. "The sails were lowered and she pulled in. A rope was hove, and I caught it. I was about to make it fast round your father. "'You go first, Paul,' he said. 'If you reach the boat I will try to follow, but there is no use for me to try now; I should be drowned before I got half way.' "Still I tried to secure the rope round him, but he resisted all my efforts. At last I saw that I must go, or we should both be lost, and I hoped to get the boat in nearer and to return with a second rope to help him. "I made the rope fast round my waist and plunged in. I had hard work to reach the boat; I did not know how weak I was. At last I was hauled on board, and was singing out for a rope, when the people in the boat uttered a cry, and looking up I saw a huge sea come rolling along. Over the rock it swept, taking off your poor father. I leapt overboard with the rope still round my waist, in the hopes of catching him, but in a moment he was hidden from my sight, and, more dead than alive, I was again hauled on board. "The crew of the boat pulled away from the rock; they knew that all hopes of saving my friend were gone. Sail was made, and we stood for the shore. "The people at the village attended me kindly, but many days passed before I was able to move. "As soon as I had got strength enough, with a sad heart I set out homewards. How could I face your poor mother, and tell her that her husband was gone? I would send my own dear wife, I thought, to break the news to her. "As I reached my own door I heard a child's cry; it was that of my little Nelly, and granny's voice trying to soothe her. "I peeped in at the window. There sat granny, with the child on her knee, but my wife was not there. She has gone to market, I thought. Still my heart sank within me. I gained courage to go in. "'Where is Nelly?' I asked, as granny, with the baby in her arms, rose to meet me. "'Here is the only Nelly you have got, my poor Paul,' she said, giving me the child. "I felt as if my heart would break. I could not bring myself to ask how or when my wife had died. Granny told me, however, for she knew it must be told, and the sooner it was over the better. She had been taken with a fever soon after I had left home. "It was long before I recovered myself. "'I must go and tell the sad news I bring to poor Mary,' I said. "Granny shook her head. "'She is very bad, it will go well-nigh to kill her outright,' she observed. "I would have got granny to go, but I wanted to tell your poor mother of my promise to your father, and, though it made my heartache, I determined to go myself. "I found her, with you by her side. "'Here is father,' you cried out, but your mother looked up, and seemed to know in a moment what had happened. "'Where is Michael?' she asked. "'You know, Mary, your husband and I promised to look after each other's children, if one was taken and the other left; and I mean to keep my promise to look after you and your little boy.' "Your mother knew, by what I said, that your father was gone. "'God's will be done,' she murmured; 'He knows what is best--I hope soon to be with him.' "Before the month was out we carried your poor mother to her grave, and I took you to live with granny and Nelly. "There, Michael, you know all I can tell you about yourself. I have had hard times now and then, but I have done my duty to you; and I say again, Michael, you have always been a good and dutiful boy, and not a fault have I had to find with you." "Thank you, father, for saying that; and you will still let me call you father, for I cannot bring myself to believe that I am not really your son." "That I will, Michael; a son you have always been to me, and my son I wish you to remain. And, Michael, as I have watched over you, so I want you to watch over my little Nelly. Should I be called away, be a brother and true friend to her, for I know not to what dangers she may be exposed. Granny is old, and her years on earth may be few, and when she is gone, Michael, Nelly will have no one to look to but you. She has no kith nor kin, that I know of, able or willing to take care of her. Her mother's brother and only sister went to Australia years ago, and no news has ever come of them since, and my brothers found their graves in the deep sea, so that Nelly will be alone in the world. That is the only thing that troubles me, and often makes me feel sad when we are away at night, and the wind blows strong and the sea runs high, and I think of the many I have known who have lost their lives in stouter boats than mine. But God is merciful; He has promised to take care of the widow and orphan, and He will keep His word. I know that, and so I again look up and try to drive all mistrustful thoughts of His goodness from my mind." "Father, while I have life I will take care of Nelly, and pray for her, and, if needs be, fight for her," exclaimed Michael. He spoke earnestly and with all sincerity, for he intended, God willing, to keep his word. _ |
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