Chapter 2. Margaret...

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_ CHAPTER TWO. MARGARET--STEPHEN--THE ROCKS--THE FACE--BLIND PETER--THE STORM.

When the old tower of Stormount was being fitted for a modern habitation, the original arrangements of the interior had been in a great measure restored. Entering at the gateway, a narrow passage led to the foot of a spiral stair which ran up to the top of the building. On each story there was a landing-place, into which the rooms opened. Most of them were in shape like a slice of cake, the largest, used as a sitting-room, almost semi-circular. At each window there was a deep recess--the windows themselves in the lower stories being very narrow, having been made rather as loopholes for musketry than to let in light-- while in the upper story they were square and low, formed as ports for such cannon as were used in the days of the Commonwealth. Under the ground-floor some of the inmates suspected that there were vaults, as at two or three spots a hollow sound on stamping hard was elicited, but as there was no apparent way down, the captain had not thought it worth while to break up the pavement to examine them. The dining-room, kitchen, some offices and bedrooms were in the newer part of the structure.

Captain Askew's own room was one of those on the upper story, looking towards the sea. It could not be called his study--for he was not a reading man, and there were but few books in it,--but it contained something of everything, arrayed in the most perfect order on shelves arranged one above another, in cupboards, on tables, and in drawers. It was a workshop, a museum, a laboratory, a model room, a library, a dressing-room in one. Here he sat at work for a large portion of each day, but not often alone, as his wife, or daughter, or Tom Bowlby was constantly with him. In two or three points the captain had changed somewhat of late years. He lived less for himself and more for others than formerly. He took delight in going out among the fishermen and cottagers in the neighbourhood, with his Bible in hand, or with some book on religion, and in reading and explaining the Scriptures. He was also engaged in making the model of a lifeboat, and inventing other apparatus for saving life.

He had likewise been appointed a magistrate, for the especial object of assisting the revenue officers in putting down smuggling, which it was found difficult to do without a strong force of coastguards on shore and numerous cutters afloat. He most unwillingly undertook the office, but having taken it, set about doing his duty, as he was accustomed to do everything, thoroughly. This of course made him enemies among those he had hitherto looked upon as his friends; still, all but the worst characters acknowledged that the captain was an upright man, and that whatever he did, he would take no undue advantage of them.

Captain Askew sat in his room--the captain's room. It was known by no other name. He was a strongly-built man, with a fine open countenance, florid, or rather sunburnt, with blue eyes--Margery's were like them-- and hair sprinkled thickly with frost. The loss of his leg had prevented him from taking much rapid exercise, and he had grown slightly stout in consequence, but he was still hale and active. Margery stood by his side watching his proceedings, and occasionally, when required, helping him in his work.

They were interrupted by Becky Bott, who put her head in at the door, saying, "Please, there's young master Stephen Ludlow a come to see you, Miss Margery, with a book he says." Having delivered her message, Becky popped her head out of the room.

"I don't like that Stephen Ludlow, father, and I wish that he wouldn't come here as he does," exclaimed Margery, pouting. "He never cared for dear Jack, and he has no right to come here, with his proud manners, sneering at everything, and thinking himself the most important person in all the country round."

"He is our landlord's son, little daughter, and it is our duty to treat him with attention," answered the captain. "I have not found his manner un-courteous, though, being an only son, he possibly is spoilt a little at home."

"He is spoilt a great deal, I suspect," cried Margery tossing her head in scorn.

"Well, well, ask him if he has a mind to stop to dinner, then tell him that you are engaged with me, and come back here," said the captain; "he will find means of amusing himself in the meantime."

Margery found Stephen in the sitting-room. He was a pale-faced boy, with irresolution marked on every lineament of his countenance; the curl of his lip, and a frown marked on his brow, were not pleasant traits. "I have brought this book for you, Margery, as I thought you would like it if you have never read it," he said, presenting a good thick volume, with a somewhat awkward manner.

Margery took it coldly, saying, "Thank you, I'll try and read it, but I have not much time to read by myself, as papa likes to be read to, and so does mamma of an evening when she is at work. Oh! by the by, I am to ask you to stop and dine, dinner will soon be ready, and you can amuse yourself in the meantime on the beach. As I think of it, it is really a pity that you should leave the book, I may never look into it."

"Oh! but this book is not like any other, it is full of adventure. All about a man living on a desert island, with a black called Friday, for I don't know how many years. If it isn't true, it ought to be, and so you'd better read it," said the boy, pressing the book on her.

Margery had become interested with the description of the work, and no longer refused to take it. She thanked Stephen more graciously than before, and, taking the book with her, hurried back to her father. Stephen was satisfied; he liked Margery and the captain, and Mrs Askew, better than most people, next to himself, and he thought that he could pass the hour till dinner-time to his satisfaction on the beach, in picking up shells and other sea curiosities. So, leaving his pony in a shed near the tower, which served as a stable, he strolled down to the shore.

The tide was unusually low, and on turning to the right as he faced the sea, he found that he could get along under the cliff on which the tower stood, by means of a narrow ledge of rock and sand. He had never been there before, and he thought that he should like to see how the cliff looked towering above him. He forgot the danger he was running, should the tide rise and cut off his retreat. He went on and on till he got completely under the cliff, and when he looked up it seemed to bend over above his head, and to reach up to the sky. The rocks were so wet that it was evident the tide had only just gone down, so he thought that he should have abundance of time to get further, and perhaps to get round, so as to climb up the cliff on the west side. Going on, as he happened suddenly to look up, he fancied that he saw, high above his head, a human face looking down on him out of the side of the cliff. He was startled--as well he might--for it seemed impossible that any one could get to the spot. When he looked again the face--if fact it was--had disappeared, and he saw nothing which he could have mistaken for a face. Still he went on; there was novelty in the expedition, and no apparent danger, of which he was not fond, and he thought that it could only be a very little way longer round. Again he was startled, but this time it was by a cry, and hastening on to the spot whence the sound came, he saw a young girl, in the dress worn by the children of the fishermen, holding on to a wet, seaweed-covered rock, on which she had fallen to save herself from slipping off into the water. He was not so devoid of good feeling as not to wish to help her, so he ran on, and taking one of her hands, he dragged her up and enabled her to reach a spot where the footing was more secure.

She thanked him simply but warmly, and then looking at him earnestly, she said, "You are young Master Ludlow, and I think this no place for you: so get back the way you came, or ill may come of it: there is time for you before the tide rises, but none to spare."

"Who are you?" said Stephen; "I don't know what you mean; I've done nothing to offend anybody."

"Who I am does not matter," answered the girl, "It's enough that you are the son of one who is trying to take the bread out of the mouths of poor folks who never harmed him."

This remark was sufficient to give Stephen a notion of what she meant, and being naturally timid, thanking her for her warning, he hurried back as fast as he could scramble over the rocks. He saw, indeed, that on account of the tide there was no time to lose, for the tops of several rocks which were before exposed were completely covered, and the ledge along which his path lay was becoming narrower and narrower. He began to get alarmed. It seemed a long way to the broad part of the beach. He could not swim. He wished he could, even a little, because he might then swim from rock to rock. He thought that he was very near the end, when the tide came gliding treacherously up, till the water touched the very base of the cliff before him. There was no retreat either backwards or up the cliff. The rocks on which he stood were evidently covered completely at half-flood, while by the marks on the cliff the water must reach far above his head at high tide. He ran on almost shrieking out with terror till the water completely barred his further progress. He stood trembling on a rock, not daring to plunge in and attempt to scramble across. It would have been better for him had he done so boldly at once, for every instant the water was deepening.

He was about to sink down in despair, when he heard a voice shouting to him. This roused him up, and he saw Tom Bowlby waving the stump of his arm, and standing on a rock not twenty yards off. "Jump in, young master, and come over to me, the water is not up to your middle yet, and it's all smooth sailing between you and me."

Still Stephen, paralysed with fear, would not obey, and at length Tom, losing patience, dashed into the water himself, and hooking him through the jacket by the iron hook which he had fixed to the end of his stump, dragged him across, not, however, without having to swim a short distance, and consequently giving poor Stephen a thorough wetting. They had two places of the same character to pass through, but by the exertions of Tom, Stephen, more frightened than hurt, was at length landed safely on the dry beach, and was able to accompany him on foot up to the tower. On their way Tom told him that he had seen him go down, and hearing from a fishwife the direction he had taken, he had come after him to bring him back. On his reaching the tower, Stephen was carried into a room which had never been used since its last occupant, poor Jack, had slept in it; and while his own clothes were drying, others were given him that he might appear at dinner. He guessed at once to whom they had belonged. Tears came into Mrs Askew's eyes when she saw him, and Margery treated him with more gentleness than she was accustomed to do, forsooth to say, she had generally very little patience with him, he was so far behind her idea of what a boy ought to be. She thanked him again for the book; she had read a few pages and found them very interesting, but would tell him more about her opinion when they next met, and she had read it through. Stephen described the appearance of the face in the cliff, and what the girl he had met had said to him. The captain seemed to think that the face might have been in his fancy, but he was puzzled to account for the girl being where he found her, and not wishing to accompany him, as it was evident that she must have known of some way up from the beach. The captain got a hint which he resolved to make use of as opportunity should occur.

Margery ran off as soon as dinner was over to read more of the book Stephen had lent her, and when she returned to the sitting-room to wish him good-bye, as he was about to leave on his return home, she told him that it was a delightful book, and that she was sure she should like it better than any she had ever read. Stephen did not appear at all the worse for his ducking and fright. Tom brought his pony round to the door, and as he helped him to mount, he advised him to hurry home.--"A storm's brewing, young gentleman, d'ye see, and a wetting with fresh water will do ye more harm than the one with salt ye got this forenoon," he remarked.

"I don't just want to be reminded of that," answered Stephen, in a tone which showed his annoyance. "But if there is rain coming, I think I had better."

"Put spurs to your pony, Master Ludlow, and get home as fast as you can," said the captain, who at that moment appeared at the door.

Stephen took the observation as a hint to him to be off, and he was too proud, fancying this, to return into the house as he was about to do.

"Ah!--he'll never be what our Jack was," sighed Tom, as Stephen rode off. Dark clouds were coming up thickly from the south-west, the advanced guard of a dense mass rising rapidly out of the horizon. Stephen, looking round occasionally to see if the clouds were likely to overtake him, galloped on down the steep path which led from the tower to the more level country over which his road lay. He had not gone far when the voice of some one from behind a hedge cried out, "Who goes there? Stop, I charge you!"

Stephen was at first not a little alarmed, but directly afterwards he saw Blind Peter, the pedlar, emerge from his concealment, led by his little dog. Stephen had known Blind Peter all his life, and as soon as he saw him he answered, "I am Stephen Ludlow. What do you want?"

"I warn you that you are in danger, young gentleman," said Blind Peter. "I have been waiting for you all the morning. I thought that I should know the tread of your pony's hoof, with your light weight on his back. Don't go back the way you came, or evil may come of it. Take the round by Fairleigh farm. Be advised, young sir, be advised."

Stephen was timid, but he was obstinate, and as the rain was likely soon to fall he was in a hurry to get home. He therefore was disinclined to believe Blind Peter. "For what can any one want to hurt me?" he asked.

"Ask your father, young sir. He may guess better than you can," replied Peter, "But, I say again, go by Fairleigh. Be advised. The round will not increase your ride by more than twenty minutes, and a wet jacket is of less consequence than a broken head."

At the mention of a broken head, Stephen turned pale. He remembered the warning he had from the girl in the morning, and he now no longer hesitated to take Blind Peter's advice. Scarcely, however, thanking the pedlar, he turned his pony's head down a road to the left, and galloped on at full speed.

"He's a poor-spirited creature, or he would have had a word of thanks, or may be a piece of silver for the poor blind man," said Peter to himself, shaking his head as he spoke, and then hastened on towards the tower. He had not gone far when down came the rain, driven by a heavy gale which dashed it furiously in his face. Still he struggled on, his faithful dog pulling at his leading-string to induce him to walk faster, the animal's instinct telling him that the storm had but commenced, and that it was increasing in strength.

Captain Askew had been watching the storm after Stephen left from the window of his room in the tower, occasionally sweeping the horizon with his glass, to see what vessels were passing up and down the Channel, and exposed to its rage. Then he returned to his work, in which he was much interested, and then he went back to the window again. At length he remained longer than he had before done at the window, earnestly looking through his glass. "She'll be lost to a certainty if they don't succeed in getting up jury-masts," he exclaimed. "No chance of that either, she's driving right ashore. She'll anchor, but the ground will not hold her. I must get some of our fellows to go off to her with me. They've courage enough, if they can be stirred up."

He was watching all this time a large ship, which, totally dismasted, was being driven towards the coast. He quickly put on his foul-weather-dress, as he called it, with water-proof boots, and a sou'-wester, and went to his wife's room. He put his head into the room and said, "Margaret, I am wanted out there. God protect you and Margery. I pray that I may be soon back--so will you, I know, dear wife--good-bye." He did not stay to say more, and before she could ask any questions he had hurried from the room.

Tom saw his master leaving the house. "I know what you're after," he said to himself, and with a rapidity which few but sailors can exercise, he had stepped into his rough-weather clothing, and was hurrying after him. Though the captain was superior to Tom in most things, Tom having two real legs, and the captain only one, Tom went over the ground the fastest, and soon caught him up. "You are not going without me, sir, I hope," said Tom, in a tone which showed that his feelings were deeply hurt. "Did you ever go without me, sir, where there was anything to be done, and the chance of a knock on the head?"

"No! Tom--but you see in this sort of work two hands are wanted, and you haven't got two, and that's the long and the short of it," answered the captain.

"One of them was lost in saving my life. I don't forget that either."

"That's nothing, sir," answered Tom. "If I haven't two hands, I've got a strong set of teeth, which are pretty well as useful as a hand; and who can say that my on arm isn't as good as the two arms of many a man."

"Not I, Tom, not I!" answered the captain; "but it's just this--if anything was to happen to me, what would my wife and child do without you, Tom, to look after them?"

Tom still, however, argued the point. They were walking as fast as the captain could move down to the beach. Suddenly the latter stopped, looked Tom full in the face, and said--"It's just this. Are you captain, or am I?"

"You, sir," answered Tom, touching his hat mechanically, as he was wont in the days of yore.

"Then stay, and do as I order you," said the captain, walking on. "But I'll tell you what, Tom; you may go and look out for volunteers, and then come and help to launch the boat."

The appearance of the captain at the boat was the signal for the inmates of the neighbouring huts to come out to know what he wanted. He showed them the ship driving towards the coast--urged them to come and help him save the lives of those on board; and when he saw that his appeal made but little impression, talked of the salvage money they would receive, and other recompense from those they might save, and from their friends. First one man volunteered--then another, and another, from various motives. Tom had collected more from other quarters, till a fine crew was formed. Once having said they would go, they were not the men to draw back; but they might have been excused had they done so, for it was very evident that the undertaking was one full of dangers of the most formidable character.

The boat, one of the finest of her class on the coast, and fitted with a double row of empty kegs on either side to give her buoyancy (one of the earliest attempts at a life boat), was now hauled up in a cove on the west side of the bay. The captain had ordered as many ropes as could be collected to be brought down. These were now coiled up carefully at the bow and stern, ready for immediate use. The oars were secured by ropes to the sides of the boat, so that they could not be washed away, but would swing fore and aft. "All ready, lads?" cried the captain, "Now altogether, shove, and off she goes!" The united strength of her crew, and some twenty other men, quickly launched her on the water of the comparatively sheltered bay. "Remember!" cried the captain, standing up in the stern-sheets, and looking back at Tom. "Shove off, lads! Give way! We shall be wanted out there before long."

Bravely the men bent to their oars. Not many minutes had passed when the boat got from under the shelter of the headland, and exposed to the full force of the storm. It seemed scarcely possible that a boat could live amidst the foaming, roaring seas which came rolling in towards the beach. Her head was put at them, and on she went--now hid from view by the seething mass of water--now reappearing on the summit of a wave. On she went, in the teeth of the gale--on--on--rising and falling, every instant in danger of being swallowed up by the fiercely-leaping seas. Many of those who stood on the beach, cried--"The Lord have mercy on them!" _

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