Chapter 7. Out In The Lifeboat

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_ CHAPTER SEVEN. OUT IN THE LIFEBOAT

Once more we were steering to the north-east, intending to visit several places on the Cornish and Devonshire coast, before standing across the Bristol Channel. The sea was calm, and the wind, coming off shore, was light, as we slowly sailed past the Cow-and-Calf Rocks.

"Dear me, what a strange creature! Why, there's a black calf!" exclaimed little Nat, who was looking over the side of the vessel as we glided on.

Captain Truck turned his eyes in the direction of the rocks, where, sure enough, there was a strange-looking creature lying perfectly still, and gazing up at us with large lustrous orbs.

"That's a seal, Master Nat. If you could just look into one of the caverns on this coast, you'd find lots of them creatures. Though they are without feet or hands, they can manage to make their way along the beach at a pretty fast rate with their flappers and tails. If you were to see one, you would laugh."

"Couldn't we catch it?" asked Nat.

"Maybe if he was to come near enough I might with my harpoon; but he is too big to be a passenger on board our small craft."

Truck got his harpoon in readiness, but, fortunately for itself, the seal did not come within reach of his deadly weapon.

Rounding Stepper Point, we stood up the broad estuary which forms the mouth of the river Camel, on the southern shore of which stands Padstow. The town is situated in a valley, with pretty gardens on every side, while in front is a lake-like expanse of water apparently surrounded by granite cliffs, the entrance being completely shut out from view. Vessels of considerable size were at anchor, showing that the water was deep. We observed many ancient-looking buildings in the old part of the town near the quays, from which a fine pier projected. Higher up were more modern-looking buildings.

Having replenished our stores, which was our chief object in coming in, though the place itself was well worth seeing, we again sailed, and the same evening came off Tintagel Head.

Here both yachts were hove-to. We all pulled on shore in the boats, taking Nat with us. The place where we landed was near the village of Trevena. Over an inn door was painted the name of "Charity Bray," which we found to be the appellation of the landlady. As we promised to take tea at her hostelry before returning on board, she undertook to procure us a guide, who would lead us by the shortest cut to the far-famed ancient castle of Tintagel. Hurrying on, for we had no time to spare, we descended by a steep path along the side of the cliff until we reached a lofty rock, on which one part of the castle stands, while on the mainland another portion is built. We were now standing at the bottom of a chasm looking up two hundred feet or more to the castle walls, which were originally joined by a drawbridge. The castle was anciently called Dunchine, or the Fort of the Chasm. A zigzag path enabled us to gain the summit of the cliffs. The entrance to the castle was through a gateway, a ruined archway which still stands. Passing through it, we entered a court, called King Arthur's Garden, immediately beyond which rose a precipitous rock, crowned by a tower and wall-- evidently the keep. At the further side the cliff descends perpendicularly to the sea, while on the other is the chasm I have mentioned as dividing the two portions of the castle. The walls altogether encircled the larger part of the promontory, and in some places can hardly be distinguished from the cliffs, out of which they seem, as it were, to grow. The headland, I was told, contains about forty acres. We remarked that the walls were pierced with a number of small square orifices, probably intended for the use of bowmen. In the rock overlooking the ocean is a recess, which our guide told us was called "King Arthur's Chair;" and in another part is a subterranean passage called "King Arthur's Hiding-place." It is undoubtedly one of the most ancient castles in the kingdom, though it was greatly enlarged in later years, and was kept up until the reign of Elizabeth, when it was abandoned as a stronghold, and allowed to fall into decay. As it was King Arthur's birthplace, so it was the spot where he lost his life. I found some lines by the poet Wharton, describing the battle:

"O'er Cornwall's cliffs the tempest roared;
High the screaming sea-mew soared;
On Tintagel's topmost tower
Darksome fell the sleety shower,
When Arthur ranged his red-cross ranks
On conscious Camlan's crimson banks,
By Modred's faithless guile decreed
Beneath a Saxon spear to bleed."

Once upon a time the Cornish men were noted for being heartless wreckers. There is a story current of a wicked man, who, having tied up a donkey by the leg, fastened a lantern round its neck and drove it along the summit of the cliffs; the halting movement of the creature, resembling the plunging of a ship, being calculated to tempt vessels to their destruction, from the belief that there was ample sea room. Happily, at the present time the Cornish men are as prompt to save as they were in their savage days to lure hapless barques on shore. This part of the coast is indeed a fearful one for any unfortunate ship driven upon it, though, by means of the rocket apparatus and the lifeboats, the crew have a better chance of escape than formerly.

Soon after leaving Tintagel we came in sight of the higher light, which beamed forth from Lundy Island, revolving every two minutes. We stood on across Bude Bay, steering for Hartland Point, at the southern side of Barnstaple Bay. The wind heading us, we stood off the shore until we caught sight of the lower fixed light on Lundy Island, where, from the distance we were from it, papa calculated that the next tack would carry us into the bay.

I always enjoy sailing at night when finding our way by the lights, with the chart spread out on the cabin table. The lighthouse of Lundy Island--which is at the very entrance of the Bristol Channel--is a great blessing to mariners; while the island itself, which runs north and south, and is long and narrow, affords shelter in a westerly gale to the storm-tossed vessels bound along the coasts.

I was quite sorry when papa ordered me to turn in; but I was on deck again before daybreak, and found that we were standing towards the two bright fixed lights at the entrance of Bideford Harbour, while we could still see the lights of Lundy Island astern; so that we knew where we were as well as we should have done in broad daylight. By keeping the two lights in one, we knew that we were standing for the passage over the bar into the harbour.

It was just daylight as we entered the broad estuary where the rivers Taw and Torridge flow into the ocean. We came off Appledore, at the mouth of the Torridge, on which Bideford is situated. Bideford has an ancient school-house, where many a naval hero acquired such education as was considered necessary to prepare him for a life on the ocean. Another interesting object is its bridge, six hundred and seventy-seven feet in length, supported by twenty-four small arches, and carrying iron buttresses on its side to widen the roadway; very ugly, I thought.

From Bideford also sailed many an exploring expedition; while its gallant mariners were well-known on the Spanish main, where they filled their pockets with doubloons, won at the point of their swords from the haughty Dons. A new school has lately been established in this neighbourhood for the sons of naval and military officers; and Dick and I agreed that we should like to go there.

Returning down the river, we pulled up the northern arm of the estuary. Barnstaple is a place of considerable importance, which has existed since the reign of the Saxon kings: Athelstan, having built a castle here, made the town into a borough. It is a handsome-looking place, but the harbour is much blocked up, so that only small vessels can enter. The river is spanned by an ancient stone bridge, the width of which is increased, as at Bideford, by iron projections for foot passengers; there is also a railway on either side. We saw a number of vessels building, and passed some large woollen and lace manufactories.

As we had all read _Westward Ho_! we were anxious to see Clovelly, which lies at the south side of the bay. So, early the next morning, getting under weigh, the tide being favourable, we ran out of the harbour, and stood across to that most picturesque of villages. Bringing up, we went on shore. We might almost have fancied ourselves in some Chinese place, as we climbed up the High Street, which is built in a hollow, with cliffs on either side, a rapid stream rushing down it towards the sea. The streets are very narrow, running in a zigzag fashion; but the little gardens full of flowers at the side of each doorway give it a most attractive appearance. It is also clean and neat in the extreme; while the romantic scenery around, and the views over Bideford Bay, covered as it was then by the dark red sails of numberless trawling-boats, made us very glad that we had landed.

As we had not much time to spare, we again put off, and sailed to Ilfracombe. We passed on our way Morte Point, a dangerous headland, so called on account of the number of vessels that have been shipwrecked there. There is a lighthouse on the cliff, to show the position of this dangerous place, and a red buoy also floats over the sunken rocks.

We had with us a chart, showing the position of the wrecks round the English coasts. There were a considerable number around this headland; but many more up the Bristol Channel, especially at the mouth of the Severn, where the river appears crowded with black dots. Off Plymouth, long rows of dots show where vessels have gone down. Between Lundy Island and the Welsh coast they are numerous; while they are equally dense between the Eddystone and Falmouth. They cluster thickly in the neighbourhood of all the headlands round Cornwall. Though more sprinkled, they are almost within hail of each other across Saint George's Channel,--from the entrance, to the north of the Isle of Anglesea,--and still thicker at the mouth of the Mersey. There are not a few off Portland. Between that and Beachy Head they lie very close; but from Dungeness to the North Foreland they almost touch each other, every part of the Goodwin Sands being covered by them. All along the shore at the mouth of the Severn they can be counted by dozens; but the sandbanks off Great Yarmouth have proved the destruction of more vessels than the rocks of any other part of the coast. There is scarcely twenty miles of shore anywhere which could be passed over without those dark spots which show that some vessel has been wrecked.

It was gratifying, however, to see painted on the map a number of little red dots, which mark the lifeboat stations. Where wrecks have more frequently occurred in past years, there they appear thickest. On the Norfolk coast there are close upon thirty lifeboats, so that they are in most places not more than five miles apart.

We got into the snug little harbour of Ilfracombe, and the next morning enjoyed a ramble among the picturesque rocks of that romantic watering-place. In winter people come from a distance to it, for it is one of the most attractive seaside places on the English coast, with rocks and sands, and comfortable lodging-houses.

As the wind was from the southward and the tide favourable, we did not stay long, but stood across to Lundy Island, a rock at the southern end of which is called Bat Island. We had seen the revolving light of the island before entering Barnstaple Bay. The east coast is bold and precipitous, with numerous deep ravines running into the cliffs. The south end is even more rugged than the northern. Near the landing-place is a cave hollowed out of a black rock, called the Devil's Kitchen; and beyond it is a narrow opening filled with dangerous rocks, known as Hell's Gate. Indeed, from their character many spots hereabouts are called after Satan or his imps. As papa observed, people are ready enough to give Satan credit for the physical ills they suffer, but too often forget the fearful moral power he exerts, and yield themselves his willing slaves. Curiously enough, the chief proprietor of the island, who lives in a substantial house, rejoices in the name of "Heaven."

So narrow is the landing-place, that we had to follow each other in single file. We had a glorious scramble among the rocks. On the top of a height appeared Marisco's Castle, with low walls and four towers, reminding us of the Tower of London.

Lundy Island has been the refuge of persons of high and low degree. No small number of smugglers have made it their abode, as from thence formerly they could carry on their lawless trade with impunity. The most noted of them was a man named Benson, at one time a member of Parliament, who had ultimately to escape to "foreign lands" to avoid punishment. The pirates also in days of yore used to make it their headquarters; indeed, Marisco, who built the castle, may be included in the category of outlaws. He, with a daring band of followers, long carried on their depredations on foreign and mercantile shipping, until they were all captured and hanged.

We met with vast numbers of puffins, cormorants, and sea-gulls, which inhabit the cliffs of the island; and we obtained some good specimens of their eggs. The most curious were those of the guillemot, which, though little larger than the puffin, have eggs as large as those of geese. They are white, chocolate, or verdigris green, covered with curious figures and dashes; and it is said that, notwithstanding the number collected, no two have ever been found exactly alike. We took on board a number of eggs to eat. The yolk is a deep red, and the white transparent. The egg of the cormorant is but little larger than that of a pigeon. All these eggs are laid on ledges of the rocks. Being small at one end and large at the other, the wind rolls them round, but does not blow them over the edge.

It did not take us long to inspect Lundy Island, for it is only about two and a half miles long, and less than a mile wide. It consists of a mass of granite rising about two hundred feet above the sea.

We regretted being unable to visit Swansea, away to the north-east, and Carmarthen; but the coast between them is dangerous, and the passage would have occupied a considerable time. We should also have liked to look into the very pretty little seaside place of Tenby, on the west of Carmarthen Bay.

Swansea is a town of very considerable importance. It has a large foreign and home trade, and contains a number of furnaces for the smelting of copper, the ore being imported from Cornwall and Devonshire, and even from Australia and other foreign places. Five or six thousand ships visit it every year. Several canals and railways connect it with other parts of the country. It is not surprising that the wreck chart should show a number of black dots off its harbour.

A fresh breeze from the south-east soon brought us in sight of Saint Ann's lights, forming the south-west entrance of Milford Haven; and guided by them we stood on towards the mouth of that magnificent estuary, which we entered by the first dawn of day. Running up it, we steered due east until we came off the town of Milford, where we brought-up, and sent on shore for fresh provisions.

Milford Haven is a wide estuary, in some places four and five miles across. We went on shore, but there was not much to see in the town. A naval dockyard, which once existed here, was removed in 1814 to Pembroke, on the southern side of the estuary. Having obtained what we wanted, we stood across to the latter place. We anchored off the dockyard, which is even larger than that of Portsmouth. We went through it, visiting several ships of various sizes. We saw also buildings and manufactories similar to those at Portsmouth. Everything is on a large scale. We were much interested in all we saw; but as I have already described Portsmouth, I need not give an account of Pembroke. From the width of Milford Haven, and being open to the south-west gales, it does not when they are blowing, afford secure anchorage; and the wreck chart shows that a number of vessels have been lost within it.

Papa and Uncle Tom had a consultation on board the Lively, and agreed that they would stand on up the Irish Channel, and touch at no other place until we arrived at Caernarvon, at the entrance of the Menai Straits, through which they intended to pass on our way to Liverpool.

We accordingly sailed early in the morning, and steered across for the Smalls Lighthouse, to the westward of which they intended to keep before standing up Saint George's Channel. Though we had a brisk breeze, it took us nearly three hours after we passed Saint Ann's Lighthouse, the distance being eighteen miles, to reach the Smalls rocks. Before the lighthouse was erected many vessels were lost on them, or on others between them and the coast of Wales. To the northward are the Tuskar rocks, on the Irish coast, on which also stands a fine lighthouse; and the two may be considered the guardian angels of the Channel. Those keeping to the east can see the Smalls light, while those a short distance off more to the west are in sight of the Tuskar light, which revolves every two minutes.

The tides run with great fierceness between the Smalls and the mainland, amid the dangerous reefs which extend out from the island of Skomer. As it was nearly slack tide when we got up to the lighthouse, and as the water was smooth, papa and Uncle Tom agreed to land. The yachts were hove-to, the boats lowered, and we pulled in on the northern side, where we had no difficulty in landing.

Two of the light-keepers, seeing us coming, descended to our assistance,--for, as may be supposed, they are ever happy to receive visitors, especially those bringing newspapers and periodicals. Before ascending, our guides took us to the site of the old tower, and a curious store-room, which was cut into the rock to serve as a coal-cellar to the former edifice, of which one of them gave us an interesting account.

Centuries had passed by, and numberless wrecks had occurred on the Smalls and neighbouring rocks, when, about a hundred years ago, a ship belonging to Liverpool was lost on them. She was commanded by a Captain Phillips, who, with his crew, escaped; and from a feeling of gratitude for his providential deliverance he determined that he would do his utmost to get a lighthouse built on the rock. He shortly afterwards became a shipowner and merchant in Liverpool; and, being successful in business, he forthwith put his intention into execution. His first plan was to fit long cast-iron pillars deep into the rock, and to place upon them a circular room, as the habitation of the light-keepers, with a lantern at the top. He had already raised the pillars to a considerable height, when a heavy gale came on, and they were overthrown. Undaunted by his failure, Captain Phillips again set to work, and engaged a Mr Whiteside--an ingenious mechanic and a native of Liverpool. Curiously enough, Mr Whiteside, who was about twenty-six years of age, had hitherto employed his talents in making musical instruments, though, having means of his own, he did not depend upon his labour for his subsistence. He had never been to sea, and was ignorant of the power of the ocean. Accompanied by half-a-dozen Cornish miners, he arrived in the harbour of Solva, a small town near Saint David's Head, on the north side of Saint Bride's Bay, about twenty-two miles from the Smalls rock. He began the work by again using iron pillars, the task of the miners being to bore holes in the rock in which to fix them. Before they had been long at work a gale arose, which compelled their vessel to seek for safety in harbour, while they were left clinging to one of the iron pillars. During that fearful night several of them were nearly carried away. The gale abating on the third day, they were rescued in a very exhausted state by the crew of their vessel. Still Mr Whiteside continued the work. After the iron pillars were fixed, and already carried to some height, another gale so bent them as to convince him that another material must be used. He accordingly obtained the longest and stoutest oak trees to be procured in the kingdom. After undergoing many hardships, dangers, and disappointments, he ultimately erected five wooden and three iron pillars. On the summit an octagonal room was formed, with a lamp above. Afterwards the three iron pillars were removed, and oak placed in their stead, with another in the centre, the whole supported by diagonal stays, the lower ends of which were fixed in the rock.

A rope ladder leading from the rock to a trap in the floor of the room enabled the light-keepers to ascend; and in this room was stored oil, coal, provisions, and other necessities, with spare bunks for any mechanics employed on the work or shipwrecked mariners who might reach the rock. Thus but little space was left for the regular inhabitants, two of whom, however, generally remained at a time in the lighthouse.

During a severe gale, which lasted for many weeks, one of the men died; and the other, fearing that he might be accused of murdering his companion, kept the body, placed in a coffin hanging under the floor of the room, until he was relieved. In consequence of this event, three keepers were always stationed at the lighthouse. The room was only just of sufficient height for a man of ordinary stature to stand upright; indeed, one of the keepers, measuring six feet, was unable to do so, and had to bend his head, lest he should strike it against the beams.

Often, during even ordinary gales of wind, the whole structure was completely covered by the water, so that when the waves rose the light could not be seen. Having inspected the holes in which the towers stood, we examined the cellar. It was cut out of the solid rock, and is twenty feet long by eight wide, and four feet deep, and has a covering of granite eight inches thick, the entrance being by two gun-metal doors, or rather man-holes, perfectly impervious to water when closed; it was formed to hold the tools and stores of the labourers. The rock itself is twelve feet above the level of the sea at high-water, and the lantern of the old lighthouse stood seventy feet above the water.

For eighty years this curious pigeon-hole of a dwelling-house towered in mid air, surrounded by the furious waves which dashed wildly against it, until at length the Trinity Corporation, who had purchased it from the heirs of the original possessor, resolved on building a stone lighthouse, similar to that of the Eddystone; and Mr James Douglas was entrusted with its construction. The first stone was laid in 1857; and the light on the new tower was exhibited on the 1st of August, 1861, the old structure being immediately afterwards removed.

We made our way to the new lighthouse, which is of granite. Twenty-nine feet above high-water mark, it is of solid masonry; in the next eighteen feet there is a well-staircase seven feet in diameter, all the courses being secured in the most perfect manner. Having climbed up by thirteen gun-metal steps, wedged into the solid granite, we reached the entrance port. As may be supposed, we had to stretch our legs to get up to it. We ascended the staircase by twenty-eight steps to a room containing three iron water-tanks, holding a thousand gallons, with a coal-cellar below it. Here a crane is fixed for hoisting in stores. Seventeen more steps led us to the oil room. The arched granite floors are composed of twelve radiating blocks of granite, dovetailed to a centre stone nine inches thick in the centre, and one foot seven inches in circumference. A slated floor is cemented on to the surface of the granite. Another seventeen steps took us up to the store-room, in which the meat and bread casks are kept. Ascending a third series of seventeen steps, we arrived at the living room, the walls of which are two feet six inches thick. Here is a cooking-range with an oven, a bookcase, tables, etcetera. A fourth series took us to the bedroom, in which there are five berths; and by a fifth staircase of seventeen steps we reach the watch-room, immediately below the lantern; but there is no seat, as the keeper is not allowed to sit down during his watch. Sixteen more steps we mounted, making altogether one hundred and twenty-nine, when we arrived at the lantern. The apparatus is of the first catadioptric order, lighted by a first-class pressure lamp. By it stands the machine for striking the fog-bell, which weighs three hundredweight, and sounds about every two seconds by means of a double clapper. There is also a flagstaff, by means of which the light-keepers can hoist signals to passing vessels. The total height of masonry above high-water mark is one hundred and fifteen feet six inches; and the diameter of the tower over the outside of the cornice is twenty-one feet. Although not so lofty, this magnificent lighthouse is a far stronger structure than that of the Eddystone.

There are four light-keepers belonging to the lighthouse, one--as is customary--being on shore. They seemed perfectly happy and contented, liking the regularity of their lives, feeling, as they said, fully as safe as they would miles inland. They were _very_ glad of a packet of newspapers and a couple of magazines we gave them, which we obtained at Milford; and the men begged us to give them another look in, should we come that way again. This we promised to do if we could.

The weather had hitherto been very fine, and we hoped to have a pleasant run. We were gliding smoothly on, and had got very nearly half across Cardigan Bay, when the weather gave signs of changing.

"We shall have a dirty night of it, sir, if I don't mistake," observed Truck to papa; "if the wind comes from the westward, it will be all we can do to weather Bardsey Island."

"If we once round it, we shall have a clear run for Caernarvon," said papa; "and I should be sorry to delay by making for another port."

"If you please sir," answered Truck, "to my mind it would be as well to get into port as soon as we can."

"We will see what the glass says," observed papa.

He sent me below to look. It had fallen greatly within the last half-hour. As we looked westward we saw heavy clouds banking up in that direction, and rapidly approaching. Papa, on this, ordered the gaff topsail to be taken in, and the jib shifted. Presently afterwards we had two reefs down in the mainsail, and a still smaller jib set. The wind rapidly increased. We went below and examined the chart. The nearest port was Aberystwyth.

"At all times there is sufficient water over the bar for small craft like ours," observed papa. "We will run for it, and shall be in before dark; but if not, there are two lights to guide us into the harbour."

On going on deck, we made a signal to the Dolphin, and Uncle Tom bore down to speak to us. Papa told him what he proposed doing, and immediately altering our course, we stood into the bay. Having a good chart, we had no difficulty in making out the landmarking. In about an hour we came in sight of the ruined walls of an ancient castle above the harbour. A number of fishing-boats were making for the harbour, to find shelter from the expected gale; and, following them, we ran over the bar--it being high-water--and brought-up before the old-fashioned town.

The old town has not a very attractive appearance, as the streets are narrow, and the houses covered with black slate, which give them a sombre look, but there are also a number of large good-looking houses, inhabited by visitors, who come here to bathe and enjoy the sea-breezes, and we saw several churches and other public buildings; so that Aberystwyth may be considered a place of some importance.

We were thankful to be in harbour, for we had scarcely dropped our anchors before the gale broke with fearful violence. The sun had already set, and the rain came down in torrents. We remained on board, hoping to be able to see something of the old town and its ruins the following morning, before sailing.

All night long we could hear the wind howling and whistling, and the sea dashing against the rocks outside the harbour. When morning broke, the storm was raging as fiercely as ever; but as the rain had ceased, as soon as we had had breakfast we went on shore and walked down to the beach.

We met several people, who looked eager and excited, and inquiring of them the cause, they pointed seaward to the north-west, where, amid the spray, we made out a large vessel on shore.

Presently we saw a carriage dragged by four horses, coming along at a great rate, and as it came up we discovered that it contained the lifeboat. Reaching the shore, it was turned round, with the back of the carriage, on which the bow of the lifeboat rested, towards the sea. The horses were now made to back it nearer and nearer the water. I felt so eager to witness the proceedings that I would have given anything to go off with the gallant crew.

"Now, lads! on board!" cried the coxswain.

As he uttered the words, not only the crew but a number of other persons rushed down to the side of the boat. I found myself among them. In one instant the crew leapt on board, and, seized by a sudden impulse, I too sprang up the side, and slid down into the bottom of the boat. The coxswain was standing up, watching the seas as they rolled in. That moment was a favourable one for launching the boat, and, crying out to the men on the beach to haul away on the detaching lines, the boat, ere two seconds had passed, began to glide towards the raging billows. The crew had seized their oars, and were already giving way. Bravely the boat rolled over the first sea she encountered; and in less than a minute--before I was discovered--she was far from the beach, and pulling swiftly away out to sea. Now, for the first time, the coxswain, casting his eyes down, beheld me.

"Where do you come from, my lad?" he exclaimed; "you have no business here."

"I was on board before I had time to think about that," I answered. "I beg your pardon; but now that I am here I hope that you will let me remain."

"Provided you are not washed out of the boat," he replied. "Here, take one of these cork-jackets and put it on, and then sit quiet. Whatever happens, hold fast,--or, stay, lash yourself down; remember your life depends upon it."

I did as he directed, and had now time to reflect on the folly of my proceeding--not that I feared for myself, but I knew papa and the rest of our party would be dreadfully anxious when they missed me.

The coxswain took no further notice of me. He had enough to do to attend to the steerage of the boat. I confess that before many minutes were over I wished myself back safe on shore. Still, I kept up my spirits; my only regret was that I had got on board without papa's leave, and that he, and Oliver and Uncle Tom, and the rest, would be made unhappy on my account.

In spite of the coxswain's orders, I stood up, holding the rope with my left hand, waving my handkerchief with the other, hoping that papa would see it, and at once know what I was doing.

I quickly sat down again, for I heard the coxswain cry out, "Hold fast, my lads!" and, turning my head for an instant over my shoulder, I saw a tremendous wave come rushing on with a crest of foam curling over it as if about to overwhelm the boat. On the crew pulled, however; when in an instant the sea broke, a large portion coming right down into the boat, wetting us through fore and aft. But the men seemed to think nothing of it, and on they pulled. Several other seas broke over us in the same way, half filling the boat; but she was so constructed that the water ran out again, and directly afterwards she was as buoyant as ever. We were pulling away to windward, to get a sufficient offing from the land to set sail. It was a long business, for although the men pulled hard, the wind was in our teeth, and the seas seemed to be sending us back as fast as we advanced. Such, however, was not the case, for on looking towards the shore I saw that we were gradually increasing our distance from it.

Thus some hours were passed; they appeared to me the longest I had ever known, and I again and again wished myself on shore. Had I been one of the crew, and felt that by my exertions I might have contributed to the saving of the shipwrecked sailors, the case would have been very different; but I had to sit quiet.

At last the coxswain shouted out, "Make sail!" The mast was stepped, and a double-reefed foresail and mizen were set. The boat could scarcely carry a smaller sail out; even with that she heeled over. Her head was now pointed towards the wreck, which seemed farther and farther off; indeed, we could only occasionally get a glimpse of her as we rose on the summits of the seas. How fearful must have been the anxiety of those on board the wreck! They might possibly have seen the boat; but if they did they might have feared that she would not reach them, or that they would not be able to get on board her before their ship went to pieces. At length the bank was reached which must be crossed before the wreck could be gained. The sea here was breaking tremendously; the waves leaping and clashing together, gave the water the appearance of a huge boiling cauldron. The boat seemed literally struggling for life; now the water poured in on one side, now on the other, as she rolled to starboard or port.

"Hold on, hold on, my lads, for your lives!" cried the coxswain; and a tremendous sea broke bodily over her, threatening to sweep every man on board away. I held on, as may be supposed, like grim death. The men, slipping from their seats, placed their breasts on the thwart, thrust their legs under them, and clasped them with both their arms, while the water rushed over their backs and heads, so completely burying us that I fully believed the boat was going down; indeed, it seemed as if we were gone. Suddenly regaining its buoyancy, up it sprang again, throwing out most of the water through the side, while the rest sank to the bottom of the boat, and once more she floated bravely.

The men looked round, as did I, expecting that some of their number would have been washed away; but they had all instantly regained their seats, and on she sped amid the hissing foam.

The wind, instead of lessening, appeared to increase, and the clouds came down close above our heads, seeming almost to meet the dancing crests of foam. With the masses of spray which continually broke over her and the thick clouds above us, it was almost as dark as night; and even the coxswain, with his sharp eyes, could with difficulty distinguish the wreck. At last, the sands were crossed, and the boat was once more ploughing her way through the seas, which rolled in towards the shore with greater regularity than those we had just passed.

"I see her! I see her!" cried the coxswain, who was standing up peering ahead. "She is little better than half a mile to leeward."

The direction of the boat was slightly altered, and we stood down towards the wreck. As we approached her we saw that her mainmast was gone, that her foremast and yards were still standing, with their sails fluttering wildly from them. The lifeboat crew now looked anxiously towards the wreck, to ascertain if any men were still left in the rigging or on the forepart of the hull, which alone remained above the water.

"I see one! I see _two_!" exclaimed the men, in rapid succession. "They are waving to us."

As we got still nearer, we could count no less than eight men in the rigging; but how to get to them was the difficulty.

"The mainmast has not been cut adrift; it will be a dangerous task," said the coxswain. "Lads, we shall have to board her on the weather-side, I fear."

From the position we had gained we could now see to leeward; and there, sure enough, hung the mainmast, which the sea was tossing up and down in a way which would speedily have destroyed our boat. The coxswain's resolution was taken. Running to windward, he ordered the anchor to be let go and the sails lowered. His object was to get sufficiently near the wreck to receive the people on board without actually touching her. This was a dangerous undertaking; but it had to be performed, if any of the shipwrecked crew were to be saved. Six hands went to the bow, and gradually the cable was paid out, the huge rolling seas carrying us nearer and nearer the wreck. Several broke over us, and, rising against the side of the vessel, concealed her and the crew hanging on to the rigging from our sight. I remained seated, clinging on to the thwart, for I knew that I could do nothing. The brave coxswain, standing up, watched for an advantageous moment to approach the wreck. It seemed to me that it would never come.

"Slacken the cable," he shouted out; "three fathoms, a little more, a little more!"

And now the stern of the boat got close up to the wreck. With a wild cry of "Now, lads, now!" four men sprang into the lifeboat. They were active seamen, or they could not have done it. Scarcely were they on board, than, looking forward, I saw a tremendous sea come rushing down on the boat. The coxswain shouted, "Haul in, lads! haul in!" The crew, with two of the men who had just joined us, hauled away from the wreck, only just in time; for the sea would otherwise have carried us right up on her deck, and either have dashed the boat to pieces or upset her, and sent us all struggling into the water. The huge wave having broken, again the boat was allowed to approach, and six more of the crew, having unlashed themselves, sprang into her one after the other. Neither they nor we were in safety. "Are there any more of you?" asked the coxswain, who was compelled to keep his eye to windward to watch the approaching waves.

"Yes, five more," was the answer.

"Haul away! haul away, lads!" shouted the coxswain, for at that instant he saw another huge wave rolling in.

The lifeboat crew saw it too, and knew full well that it would prove our destruction, should we not get to a safe distance. Still, the remainder of the crew were not to be deserted. Three were men, the other two boys. I could see the poor fellows, as I looked back, lashed to the rigging, holding up their hands in dumb show, imploring us not to desert them. Neither the coxswain nor his crew were men to do that; but already the boat was crowded, and should the sea break on board, some of those saved might be washed out of her. Sea after sea rolled in on the wreck; every moment I expected to see the masts go, with the helpless men clinging to the shrouds, when all must be lost.

"Pay out, pay out, my lads!" exclaimed the coxswain, just as a huge sea was breaking astern of us, and three or four smaller ones of less consequence were approaching.

Again the boat got close up to the wreck. Two more men sprang into her. Another made the attempt, but his foot slipped, or he let go his hold of the rope too soon, and, falling between the boat and the vessel's side, disappeared. One shriek only escaped him; it reached the ears of the two poor boys, who seemed paralysed with fear and unable to help themselves.

The coxswain shouted to them to let go, and spring towards him. One did as directed, and was caught by the strong arm of one of the crew. The other appeared to be entangled in the rigging. The brave man who had saved the other lad, seeing that the boy would be lost, regardless of the danger he himself was incurring, sprang on board, cutting the lashings with his knife, which he then threw from him. He seized the boy round the waist. At that instant I heard the cry, "Haul off, haul off!"

"Hold fast for a moment!" shouted the gallant man who had gone to rescue the boy.

By the delay of that moment the lives of all of us were fearfully imperilled. The man sprang with the rescued boy on board; but scarcely had his feet touched the boat when the sea which had just before been observed surrounded her and carried her right up high above the deck of the wreck. The crew forward were hauling away with all their might, although the bow of the boat was pointed downwards, and must, I thought, be dragged under water. Every instant I expected to hear the fatal crash. Had our mizenmast been caught in any of the rigging, our destruction would have been certain; but ere the boat actually struck the wreck she was hauled off; and now the crew, labouring with all their strength, drew her up to her anchor. To weigh the anchor with the sea that was running was impossible. Should the boat drift down on the wreck before sail could be made she must be dashed to pieces.

"Hoist away!" cried the coxswain.

A few strokes with an axe severed the cable, the foresail filled, and away we dashed through the foaming seas, passing so close to the wreck that I thought our mast-head must have struck her bowsprit.

Fourteen human beings had been saved; and with our rescued freight on board we stood towards the harbour. Scarcely had we got clear of the wreck than the remaining mast and the bowsprit went. Had any delay occurred, all those fourteen of our fellow-creatures would have lost their lives. How long we had been away I could not tell, but it appeared like a lifetime to me. I saw that the day was waning, and it would be long still before we could get back safe to land. The gale blew as fiercely as at first, and the seas which occasionally washed over us seemed to threaten our destruction. We could dimly see the land; but the lifeboat crew knew well where they were going; and they now did what they could to relieve the sufferings of the shipwrecked seamen by handing them the flasks of restoratives, with which they had come provided.

Had I gone out with papa's leave, I should have been delighted to see the gallant deed I had witnessed. As it was, I could not help being secretly pleased, though now, strange to say, as the danger decreased, and I had time to think again of my friends, I earnestly longed to be safe on shore.

At last we caught sight of the lights at the mouth of the river, towards which the boat was making her way, although we had to go a long distance round to reach it. I was, of course, wet through, and cold and faint from want of food, though I felt no hunger. The light grew higher and nearer. The wind was at last brought on the quarter, and on the lifeboat flew. I felt her lifted by a monster sea, then down she came, and was the next instant in comparatively quiet water.

Loud cheers greeted us from the shore, which were heartily answered by our crew.

We rushed on, the sails were lowered, and we were alongside the wharf. I was so numbed and cold that I could not stand or spring out of the boat; but I heard a voice, which I knew to be that of papa, shouting out:

"Did you take off a boy with you?"

"Yes, sir; all right; here he is;" and the coxswain, lifting me up in his arms, handed me to papa and Uncle Tom.

They neither of them said anything, but carried me to the boat, which pulled off at once to the yacht. My teeth chattered with cold, so that I could scarcely speak. I was very thankful that they did not ask me questions. I was immediately put into my berth, and Truck soon brought a basin of hot soup, while a stone bottle of hot water was placed at my feet. In ten minutes I felt wonderfully better. Hearing papa in the cabin, I at once acknowledged that I had acted very wrongly.

"The impulse seized me, and I could not resist it," I said.

"You should not allow yourself to be influenced by a sudden impulse; but I am too thankful that you escaped destruction to be angry with you. Let us thank God that you are preserved."

After offering our sincere thanks to God for His merciful deliverance, papa said no more; and a very short time afterwards I fell asleep. The next morning, when I awoke we were at sea with the wind off shore, the sun shining brightly, and the water comparatively smooth. There was still a swell from the westward, the only signs of the recent storm. _

Read next: Chapter 8. Liverpool And Glasgow

Read previous: Chapter 6. A Shipwreck

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