Chapter Fifteen.

Chapter Fifteen.In vain Denham urged the brave Dutchman to save his own life, and promised to use his best exertions in removing those who were least hurt among the wounded men. He was looking anxiously for the return of the boats. One, however, only was seen to put off from the side of the frigate with the remainder of the prize crew, Mr Hansom deeming it imprudent to allow more than necessary to make the passage. It was not without considerable difficulty that this boat reached the side of the prize. Again Denham urged the captain to quit her, but he refused on the same plea as before. Indeed, it was very evident the boat herself would only carry in one trip the prize crew. Denham had ordered all the men to go into the boat, and at length finding that the Dutchman persisted in remaining on board, he could not bring himself to desert the brave fellow.“Well,” he said, “I will remain too, and assist the men on board to keep the ship afloat, for I feel I have no business to detain my own people with so great a risk.”“If you remain, Mr Denham, so will I,” exclaimed Ned Davis, who had followed his friend. “It may be, if we keep the pumps going, that the ship will float until there is time to get more boats alongside.”Before he allowed the boat to shove off Denham wrote a short note to Mr Hansom, begging him, unless the sea continued to increase, to send boats to carry off the wounded people; “but,” he concluded his note, “should it do so, run no risk of losing any lives—leave us to the care of God.”The boat shoved off, and the sinking frigate was left to struggle alone amidst the fast-rising sea.The French crew, encouraged by the example of their gallant captain, exerted themselves to the utmost to stop the leak, while those not thus occupied stood manfully at the pumps. By this means the sorely battered frigate continued to keep afloat, but each time the well was sounded it was found that the water had gained somewhat upon her, in spite of all the efforts made to free her of water.Ned Davis was a host in himself, flying here and there, aiding in stopping shot-holes, and then returning to take his spell at the pumps.The young lieutenant anxiously looked out for any signs of change in the weather, but that continued as bad as ever, till it became too evident that the frigate could not much longer be made to swim.Denham thought of suggesting that the wounded men should be brought on deck, to give them a better chance of escaping; but the doctor said they would thus to a certainty perish, and that if the ship went down it would be more merciful to them not to allow them to see the approach of their certain destruction.The ensign was hoisted upside down, as a sign chat the ship was in great distress, and guns were fired to draw the attention of theCynthiato her. Denham anxiously watched the progress of his frigate, feeling sure that from the mode in which the prize laboured in the sea she was not likely to float much longer. In a short time theCynthiabore down upon her, but already the sea ran so high that it was evidently a risk to send a boat; and it would have been almost impossible to lower wounded people into her. Again Denham urged the brave Dutchman, should a boat be sent, to accompany him on board the frigate.“No,” he answered; “I have made up my mind to remain by these people, and nothing shall induce me to desert them.”After some time a boat was seen approaching from theCynthia. Denham now feeling it was his duty to save his own life as well as that of his people, ordered them to take the opportunity as she drew near of leaping into her. A few of the French crew, who were not wounded, followed their example. While Denham remained Davis refused to go into the boat. At length it was evident that at any moment the prize might sink.“Now,” he exclaimed to Davis, “leap into her, and I will follow.” He shook the Dutchman warmly by the hand. “You are a brave man, my friend,” he said; “and though I would stay by you if I could assist in saving your life, my duty to my men and to myself compels me to leave you.”“Farewell,” answered the Dutchman, seemingly unmoved.“No time to lose, sir,” shouted Davis from the boat.Denham sprang from the side of the vessel; and scarcely had he reached the boat, and taken his seat in the stern-sheets, when the bow of the prize lifted high up above the sea, and then down she sank, lower and lower, till the water washed over her deck, and finally closed again above her masthead.The frigate’s boat had barely time to pull away clear of the vortex. Several people were seen struggling in the waves; among them Denham observed the brave captain, and, though not without great risk, he ordered the boat to pull back, to endeavour to get him on board. Once, as they neared the spot, he disappeared, and Denham feared he was lost for ever. He again, however, rose, when Ned Davis, leaning over the bows, caught hold of his jacket and succeeded in hauling him on board. He was the only person among the prisoners who was saved, for before the boat could reach the others, all disappeared beneath the waves. Happily the boat had no great distance to go, for it was only by great exertions and careful management that she was kept afloat. The whole of the wounded and many others of the French crew perished.The loss of their prize was a great disappointment to the officers and ship’s company of theCynthia, as they had only the bare victory to boast of, without being able to show the prize when they returned into port; but far more did they mourn the death of their brave captain. No one felt it more than Denham. To him he had been a warm and sincere friend, besides which he knew the agony and grief it would cause to one who was expecting his return. He dreaded having personally to communicate what had occurred, and he was greatly relieved by finding that the frigate was to put into Port Royal, Jamaica, to refit after the action.Mr Hansom did not forget to mention him in his despatches, as having greatly contributed to gain the victory, by his courage in assisting to lash the enemy’s bowsprit to theCynthia’sforemast.“Depend upon it, Denham,” observed Mr Hansom, “this will be marked in your favour at the Admiralty; and when you have served your time as lieutenant, you will obtain commander’s rank. I wouldn’t say this to others,—but I have a notion that you have a friend at court, and a word from the Earl, with so good an excuse, will be sure to gain whatever he asks for you.”On reaching Port Royal Denham felt it was his duty to write to the Earl, giving an account of the events that had occurred; but he did not allude even to anything he himself had done, nor did he ask for the Earl’s interest for himself at the Admiralty.Some few months after this Lord Kilfinnan gave up his appointment, and returned with his family to his native land.

In vain Denham urged the brave Dutchman to save his own life, and promised to use his best exertions in removing those who were least hurt among the wounded men. He was looking anxiously for the return of the boats. One, however, only was seen to put off from the side of the frigate with the remainder of the prize crew, Mr Hansom deeming it imprudent to allow more than necessary to make the passage. It was not without considerable difficulty that this boat reached the side of the prize. Again Denham urged the captain to quit her, but he refused on the same plea as before. Indeed, it was very evident the boat herself would only carry in one trip the prize crew. Denham had ordered all the men to go into the boat, and at length finding that the Dutchman persisted in remaining on board, he could not bring himself to desert the brave fellow.

“Well,” he said, “I will remain too, and assist the men on board to keep the ship afloat, for I feel I have no business to detain my own people with so great a risk.”

“If you remain, Mr Denham, so will I,” exclaimed Ned Davis, who had followed his friend. “It may be, if we keep the pumps going, that the ship will float until there is time to get more boats alongside.”

Before he allowed the boat to shove off Denham wrote a short note to Mr Hansom, begging him, unless the sea continued to increase, to send boats to carry off the wounded people; “but,” he concluded his note, “should it do so, run no risk of losing any lives—leave us to the care of God.”

The boat shoved off, and the sinking frigate was left to struggle alone amidst the fast-rising sea.

The French crew, encouraged by the example of their gallant captain, exerted themselves to the utmost to stop the leak, while those not thus occupied stood manfully at the pumps. By this means the sorely battered frigate continued to keep afloat, but each time the well was sounded it was found that the water had gained somewhat upon her, in spite of all the efforts made to free her of water.

Ned Davis was a host in himself, flying here and there, aiding in stopping shot-holes, and then returning to take his spell at the pumps.

The young lieutenant anxiously looked out for any signs of change in the weather, but that continued as bad as ever, till it became too evident that the frigate could not much longer be made to swim.

Denham thought of suggesting that the wounded men should be brought on deck, to give them a better chance of escaping; but the doctor said they would thus to a certainty perish, and that if the ship went down it would be more merciful to them not to allow them to see the approach of their certain destruction.

The ensign was hoisted upside down, as a sign chat the ship was in great distress, and guns were fired to draw the attention of theCynthiato her. Denham anxiously watched the progress of his frigate, feeling sure that from the mode in which the prize laboured in the sea she was not likely to float much longer. In a short time theCynthiabore down upon her, but already the sea ran so high that it was evidently a risk to send a boat; and it would have been almost impossible to lower wounded people into her. Again Denham urged the brave Dutchman, should a boat be sent, to accompany him on board the frigate.

“No,” he answered; “I have made up my mind to remain by these people, and nothing shall induce me to desert them.”

After some time a boat was seen approaching from theCynthia. Denham now feeling it was his duty to save his own life as well as that of his people, ordered them to take the opportunity as she drew near of leaping into her. A few of the French crew, who were not wounded, followed their example. While Denham remained Davis refused to go into the boat. At length it was evident that at any moment the prize might sink.

“Now,” he exclaimed to Davis, “leap into her, and I will follow.” He shook the Dutchman warmly by the hand. “You are a brave man, my friend,” he said; “and though I would stay by you if I could assist in saving your life, my duty to my men and to myself compels me to leave you.”

“Farewell,” answered the Dutchman, seemingly unmoved.

“No time to lose, sir,” shouted Davis from the boat.

Denham sprang from the side of the vessel; and scarcely had he reached the boat, and taken his seat in the stern-sheets, when the bow of the prize lifted high up above the sea, and then down she sank, lower and lower, till the water washed over her deck, and finally closed again above her masthead.

The frigate’s boat had barely time to pull away clear of the vortex. Several people were seen struggling in the waves; among them Denham observed the brave captain, and, though not without great risk, he ordered the boat to pull back, to endeavour to get him on board. Once, as they neared the spot, he disappeared, and Denham feared he was lost for ever. He again, however, rose, when Ned Davis, leaning over the bows, caught hold of his jacket and succeeded in hauling him on board. He was the only person among the prisoners who was saved, for before the boat could reach the others, all disappeared beneath the waves. Happily the boat had no great distance to go, for it was only by great exertions and careful management that she was kept afloat. The whole of the wounded and many others of the French crew perished.

The loss of their prize was a great disappointment to the officers and ship’s company of theCynthia, as they had only the bare victory to boast of, without being able to show the prize when they returned into port; but far more did they mourn the death of their brave captain. No one felt it more than Denham. To him he had been a warm and sincere friend, besides which he knew the agony and grief it would cause to one who was expecting his return. He dreaded having personally to communicate what had occurred, and he was greatly relieved by finding that the frigate was to put into Port Royal, Jamaica, to refit after the action.

Mr Hansom did not forget to mention him in his despatches, as having greatly contributed to gain the victory, by his courage in assisting to lash the enemy’s bowsprit to theCynthia’sforemast.

“Depend upon it, Denham,” observed Mr Hansom, “this will be marked in your favour at the Admiralty; and when you have served your time as lieutenant, you will obtain commander’s rank. I wouldn’t say this to others,—but I have a notion that you have a friend at court, and a word from the Earl, with so good an excuse, will be sure to gain whatever he asks for you.”

On reaching Port Royal Denham felt it was his duty to write to the Earl, giving an account of the events that had occurred; but he did not allude even to anything he himself had done, nor did he ask for the Earl’s interest for himself at the Admiralty.

Some few months after this Lord Kilfinnan gave up his appointment, and returned with his family to his native land.

Chapter Sixteen.In a turret chamber in Kilfinnan Castle sat two young ladies. It was apparently their private boudoir. It had been elegantly furnished, but the drapery had somewhat faded, and the air of freshness it had once possessed had long since departed. The window out of which the ladies were gazing looked forth over the wide Atlantic, and the eldest was dressed in deep mourning, apparently her usual costume, while the air of sadness in her countenance seemed to be habitual. The younger one was full of life and animation, though occasionally, as she looked up at her friend, she, too, became sad.“That is a strange story, Sophy, you were reading just now from the newspaper,” said the youngest,—“I mean about Lord Eden; I cannot understand how a man of his rank and position should condescend to marry a girl of low degree, however virtuous or excellent she might be. Thesemésalliancescan never answer. Too soon the one of more refined habits and ideas discovers a degree of coarseness and vulgarity in the other, which must ultimately cause separation. No; my only notion of a happy union is, that where people are of the same rank and education, and all their sympathies are in unison—”“You know so little of life, dear Nora, that I do not think you are capable of judging,” answered her cousin Sophy. “I do not say, however, that in the main you are not right, but there may be exceptions, in which true happiness may be found. I do not say Lord Eden is right in marrying this girl. At the same time, she may have more natural refinement than could be expected. I have heard of such instances.”“I, on the contrary, Sophy, remember hearing my father speak of a very different case, in which a country girl was taken out of her sphere, and educated, and, I think, became the wife of one of our ministers. As long as she was at rest, she appeared very elegant, but if she got at all excited, or, as was sometimes the case, lost her temper, she then exhibited her real condition; and if, as I consider, it is very bad for a man to marry a person of inferior rank, surely it is much worse for a lady to marry one who is her inferior.”Sophy smiled sadly.“No; I shall hold to my own opinion,” said Nora, “and I do not think that anybody would induce me to marry a person, however elegant and refined he might appear, unless I knew he was of gentle blood.”The conversation of the young ladies was interrupted by Sophy exclaiming—“Bring the glass, Nora; I see a vessel standing in for the bay. Her canvas looks very white and shining. I believe she is a man-of-war.”The telescope, which stood on a stand, had been, for some purpose, removed from the window, and it was now brought to its usual place by Nora. They both looked through it, one after the other.“Yes, there can be no doubt of the matter,” said Nora; “her square yards, her tall masts and white canvas show at once what she is. She does not appear to me to be a frigate. I think she is a smaller vessel—a corvette,—and very beautiful vessels they are.”While this conversation was going forward, the ship rapidly approached the shore, under a wide spread of canvas. They had soon an opportunity of ascertaining her character. At length she stood into the bay, and, furling her sails, came to an anchor. The wind was at that time sufficiently from the north to enable her to obtain perfect shelter, and she floated calmly on the smooth waters. It was still early in the day. They watched for a short time, but no boat could put off to approach the Castle, though they fancied they saw one standing in for another part of the bay.At that time Ireland was suffering, as she had long been, from her usual chronic disorder—discontent. Disturbances had occurred here and there in the west and south among the Riband Men, or White Boys, or United Irishmen, by which names the rebels were at different times and places known. The Government, therefore, had considered it necessary to send vessels of war to cruise up and down the coast, that their blue-jackets and marines might render such assistance as might be required. This was so generally the case at present, that the arrival of the corvette did not cause any unusual sensation among the inhabitants of the coast who lived near enough to the sea to observe her. Several men-of-war had in the same way entered the bay of late, and, after remaining a few days, had taken their departure. The young ladies had arranged that, later in the day, they would take a ride over the downs, and, after calling on Miss O’Reilly, at the Vicarage, look in upon some of the poor people whom they were in the habit of visiting.Meantime, we must go to the other end of the bay, where an old man might be seen descending the narrow gorge which led down to the small cove where the Widow O’Neil resided. It was Father O’Rourke. He proceeded on in a somewhat meditative mood, until he reached the cottage. He opened the door, and found the widow sitting on the usual stool, employed in mending her nets.“And what brings you here, Father O’Rourke?” she said, looking up at him with a glance which showed that he was not a favourite of hers.“Widow, I have come to speak about a matter of importance,” he answered. “I hear, in spite of all my warnings, and all the instruction I have given you, by which you would be sure to find your way to heaven, that you still go to that heretic minister, Mr Jamieson, as you used to do when I before warned you. Now, I tell you, widow, if you love your soul, you must go there no more. I am not going to be warning you for ever. Do you hear my words? Do you intend to obey them?”“Father O’Rourke,” said the widow, looking calmly at him, “I have a great respect for your office, and for the holy religion of which you are a priest; there is nothing I have ever said against that. I am a good Catholic, as I have always been, and you shall not be the person to throw a stone at me; but if I go to the Vicarage, I go to hear the gentle words of that poor blind lady, and the minister never speaks anything to me but what is faithful and true. He is a good man, Father O’Rourke, and I wish I was as sure of going to heaven as he is: that is what I have got to tell you.”“Oh, Widow O’Neil, those are evil words you are speaking!” exclaimed the priest; “you are just disobeying the holy mother Church; you are just doing what will bring you down the road to destruction, and I tell you, I believe it was your obstinacy, and your love for those heretics, that was the cause of the loss of your son. He is gone, and I hope he is gone to glory, for it is not for the want of me saying masses for his soul, if he has not; for sure I am, that, if he had remained here, and listened longer to the instruction of that false heretic, he would have gone the way you are so anxious to go, Widow O’Neil.”The widow now stood up, throwing from her the nets, which had hitherto been on her knees. She stepped back a pace or two, and stretched out her hands.“Father O’Rourke,” she exclaimed, “it is not the truth you are speaking to me! My boy never learned anything but what was good when he went to the Vicarage: and more than that, though you say he has gone from this world, there is something deep down in my heart which tells me he is still alive. If he were dead, my heart would feel very different to what it does now. I tell you, Father O’Rourke, I believe my son is alive, and will come back some day to see me. I know he will. Do you think I doubt his love? Do I doubt my love for him? No. Father O’Rourke, you are a childless man yourself, and you do not know what the love of a mother is for her child, and I do not think you know what the love of a child is for its mother—a fond, loving mother, as I have been,—not such a child as mine. The day will come when Dermot will stand here, as you are standing here; but he will not be blaming his old mother as you are blaming her. He will come to speak words of comfort and consolation into my ear. Instead of that, Father O’Rourke, you have brought nothing but cursing. You tell me I am in the downward road to destruction. Is that the way you should speak to a lone widow, because she loves her son, and likes those to speak who knew him, and who would talk about him to her and praise him, and who tell her what a noble, clever youth he was?”“Widow O’Neil!” exclaimed Father O’Rourke, an angry frown gathering on his brow, “year after year I have spoken to you as I am now speaking. I have warned you before, I have warned your boy Dermot. I tell you, he would not take the warning, and he would have suffered the consequences of his disobedience, but I do care for your soul, and it is on account of that soul that I want you to put faith in the holy mother Church. If you do, all will be right, but if you go and listen to the words of that Protestant minister, all will be wrong, and you, Widow O’Neil, will have to go and live for ever with the accursed; ay, for ever and ever in fire and torment.” With such force and energy did the priest speak, and so fierce did he look, that for the moment he made the poor old woman tremble and turn pale with fear. She quickly, however, recovered herself.“You may go, Father O’Rourke,” she exclaimed. “Once I was your slave, but I am your slave no longer. I am a poor ignorant woman, but I have had the truth told me, and that truth has made me free of you; say what you will, I do not fear you.”The priest on hearing these words positively stamped on the ground, and gnashed his teeth with anger. He was not one of the polished fathers of the Church, who have been taught from their youth to conceal their feelings. He was certainly not a trained disciple of Ignatius Loyola. Again and again he stamped, and then uttering a fearful anathema on the occupant of the hut, he turned round, and slamming the door, left her as he had often before done, and hastened upwards towards the cliffs.While this scene was enacting below, a young naval officer, who had landed from a boat which had come from the corvette, lately brought up in the bay, had climbed to the summit of the downs, and was taking his way across them towards the gorge, up which the priest was hastening. He had, however, not got very far, when he heard a voice singing a wild and plaintive Irish air. He stopped to listen, and as he did so, a figure, dressed in fantastic fashion, appeared from behind some broken ground in the neighbourhood of the downs. She advanced towards him, and then suddenly stopped, looking eagerly in his face.“Who are you, stranger—who are you who come to these shores? It is not good for you to be alone here; if you come, come with armed men, with muskets on their shoulders and swords by their sides, for that slight weapon that you carry would avail you nothing against the enemies you are likely to meet here. Go back, I tell you, the way you came. I may seem silly and mad, and mad and silly I am, but I can sing; few can sing like me. Now listen stranger, listen to my song.” She burst forth again in the same wild strains which at first attracted the young officer’s attention.“But what reason could you give me why I should follow your advice? I like your song, however; can you not sing me another?”“Yes,” she answered, “mad Kathleen has many a song in her head, but it does not always come when called for, it is only as the fit seizes her that she can bring it forth. Never mind listening to my song, however, but follow my advice. There is your boat even now out in the bay; go, make a signal to it to come back to you, or evil will befall you.”“I can scarcely suppose that, provided I do not leave the shore,” answered the officer. “I thank you, however, for your advice, but I do not purpose wandering far from where I now am.”“Even here where you stand you are not safe; but I have warned you once, and I cannot warn you more,” exclaimed the mad woman, as with wild gestures she retreated back to the spot from which she appeared to have come. The young officer watched her till she disappeared. A shade of melancholy came over his countenance.“I might have asked her about some of the people hereabouts,” he said to himself. “Her warning perhaps is not to be despised; I will sit down here, and wait till the boat returns.”The officer was approaching the edge of the cliff when Father O’Rourke reached the downs; seeing the stranger, he advanced towards him. The temper of the priest had not calmed down, so it seemed, since his encounter with the poor widow. As he approached the young officer, he looked at him earnestly.“What brings you here?” he exclaimed. “What business have armed men to come upon our coasts, let me ask you?”“Really, sir,” said the officer, drawing himself up, “I bear his Majesty’s commission as commander of yonder sloop of war, and in the performance of my duty, I have landed on the shores of this bay; but I do not understand why I should be thus roughly spoken to by one especially, who, judging from his appearance, is a catholic priest.”“You judge rightly, young man,” answered Father O’Rourke, “but I am not to be deceived by appearances, and though you may call yourself what you will, I suspect you to be either the commander of a privateer, if not rather of a vile buccaneer. We have had visits before now from such gentry, and I should advise you to leave our shores without delay.”“I cannot understand your meaning,” exclaimed the officer; “I repeat, I came here in the performance of my duty, and I little expected to be treated thus by the first stranger I might meet.”The priest seemed to think that he had proceeded too far; whatever might have been his motive in thus insulting one whom he must have known was a naval officer, or for some reason, he thought fit suddenly to change his tactics.“Pardon me, sir,” he said in a soothing voice, which he well knew how to assume, “I see that I was mistaken in my first supposition, and to prove my sincerity, I shall be happy if I can render to you any service in my power.”“I willingly accept your apologies,” answered the officer, regarding the priest intently, as if to ascertain whether he was to be trusted. “On my way along the shore, I intend visiting some of the little coves I see to the northward of these downs, and now, sir, perhaps you can inform me whether I am likely to find any people residing among them?”“But few, if any,” answered the priest, “they are nearly all dead or gone away who once lived there; the curse of your country has been upon them. The aged and the young, the married and the single, the widow and her children, have all been swept away.”“Yes, I have heard that great changes have taken place in this neighbourhood of late years,” answered the young officer, a shade of melancholy crossing his countenance. “And now, sir, in spite of the somewhat rough way in which you first addressed me, I wish you good morning, and thank you for your information.”Father O’Rourke had, all the time he was speaking, been examining the countenance of the young officer.“Ah, to be sure, I was somewhat irritated by a trifle just before I met you, but your politeness has conquered me,” he answered blandly, “and I beg you, should you come near my humble abode, to believe that I shall be happy to receive you. We poor, oppressed Catholics have little to offer our guests, but to such as I possess you will be welcome. Our business is to look after the souls of our parishioners. If we can but show them the right way to heaven we should be content.”The young officer seemed somewhat inclined to smile at these remarks of the priest.“I will not fail to avail myself of your invitation,” he answered, “but at present I do not intend to extend my walk along the sea-shore.”“Well then, sir, as you have wished me good morning, I must wish you the same, and a pleasant walk to you, only let me advise you to be cautious where you go; it isn’t just the safest part of the country for a king’s officer to be found wandering in by himself. However, sir, I have given you a friendly warning, and now again farewell.” The priest, somewhat to the surprise of the officer, considering the father’s previous greeting, put out his hand, which he was too courteous not to take, then quickly turning round, Father O’Rourke proceeded up the gorge into the country.Father O’Rourke was not accustomed to explain to others the object of his proceedings. He had good reasons in his own estimation for everything that he did. They were possibly conscientious; but then his conscience might have been a very erring guide, and led him far wrong, as is the case with many other people in the world.“It cannot be helped,” said the priest to himself, alluding to something which was passing in his own mind, “but no harm may come of it to me after all. The boys were to meet at O’Keef’s last night, and there will be plenty of them still about there; they will be glad enough of the chance of getting hold of a king’s officer, and if he shows fight and some one gives him a knock on the head, or sends a pistol-bullet through him, it will settle the business. He is certain to be down in the cove, and if the boys are quick they will catch him there. I am pretty sure that I am not mistaken, but at all events he will be a valuable prize if he can be got hold of any way.”Such thoughts occupied the mind of the priest as turning off from the beaten path he took his way across a mountainous region which still remained in all its primitive wildness. After proceeding for some distance at a speed which was surprising considering his age, he reached some rude turf-covered huts, scarcely discernible from the rocks and grass amid which they stood. The priest gave a peculiar call, which soon brought out a number of shaggy-looking heads and eager faces with grey frieze-coats beneath them. Father O’Rourke did not take long to explain the object of his visit, which was quickly comprehended, nor did he wrongly estimate the inclinations of his hearers, who gleefully undertook to carry out the plan he proposed to them. All things being arranged to his satisfaction, he returned to his own abode, saying to himself, “I warned him of danger, so that if he is attacked and escapes, he cannot accuse me of having had anything to do in the matter.”The officer was about to prosecute his intention of descending into the cove, when he heard merry voices near him. The speakers seemed to be climbing up the cliffs, and they soon made their appearance on its summit. Touching their caps as they neared the officer—“The boat has come for you, sir,” said one of them.“Very well,” was the answer. “Go down and amuse yourselves on the beach for a short time and I will join you. I am not ready to go off just yet.”The young midshipmen receiving these orders managed to get down the cliffs in a way few but midshipmen could have done without breaking their necks.“I wonder what our captain’s about,” said one of them. “I should have thought that he would have gone to the Castle. Lord Kilfinnan lives there, you know; and I remember hearing how constantly he used to be at his house out in the West Indies. Did you ever see Lady Nora?”“No,” answered the other; “I do not remember having heard her spoken of.”“Oh, she is the Earl’s daughter, and a very beautiful girl she is, too,” observed the first speaker. “There is Lady Sophy Danvers, her cousin, too, who lives with her. She was engaged for a long time to that Captain Falkner, you know, who commanded theCynthia; but, I suppose her relations did not like her to marry him because he wasn’t a lord, and intended her for a duke or a marquis perhaps.”“I do not see why they should have done that,” answered the other midshipman. “In my opinion, a naval officer is equal to any lord in the land; at all events, a post-captain is. If I were a post-captain, I know, I should not hesitate to pay my respects to any earl’s daughter. Why, just think, to have a fine frigate and three or four hundred men under one’s orders, and, by-and-by, a line-of-battle ship, and then a post-captain becomes an admiral, remember; and many admirals have been made lords themselves. Why, there is Lord Nelson; he was only a midshipman to begin with; and Lord Collingwood, and Lord Saint Vincent, and Lord Howe, and many others; they were all midshipmen, just as you and I are. Now, just look at our captain for instance; if any one deserves to be made a lord he does. What a gallant fellow he is. Why, if it had not been for him, they say, theCynthiawould have been taken. It was he assisted in lashing the enemy’s bowsprit to the frigate’s foremast, and then repelling the boarders who were swarming on board; and then, there are no end of things he did in the West Indies, and in other parts of the world. He has been in half-a-dozen cutting-out expeditions, and, since he has been a commander, has taken several prizes. Did you ever hear how, when the French frigate was sinking, he refused to leave her, and stayed on board to assist the captain in keeping her afloat at the risk of his own life. Now, that is the sort of thing to be proud of. I often think more of a man who has done those generous actions than one who has gained a hard-fought battle. However, what do you say to having a race along the sands? Here, we will get most of the fellows on shore, and I am ready to give a prize to the best runner.”“I will give my pocket-knife,” said the midshipman; “that will be an encouragement to the men. They are good sort of fellows, and I like to afford them amusement. It is little we or they get these days, kept at sea month after month.”As it may be supposed, the young midshipmen were great favourites on board the corvette, and for some time they kept their crew amused as they had proposed. At length they began to wonder that the captain did not appear, and they began to fear that some accident had befallen him. At last they proposed climbing up the cliff again to look for him. They reached the top at last, and looked round the downs on every side; no one was to be seen. Then curiosity led them a short distance inland. Suddenly, a figure which made them start rose up before them.“Who are you looking for, young sirs?” exclaimed mad Kathleen. “I know without your telling me. He is gone—gone away, and you must follow to find him; but listen, boys, I have a message for him. Now, don’t you fail to give it. Tell him there are enemies watching for him, and that if ever he comes on shore by himself he will be sure to be set upon, and all his strength and courage will avail him nothing. He is a brave man, your captain, and I wish him well.”“Why, how do you know anything about him?” asked one of the midshipmen. “I did not know he had ever been here before.”“Mad Kathleen knows more things than you wot of,” answered the mad woman, with a loud laugh, whirling her hands as she spoke. “Now, go to the Castle as I bid you, and give him my message. He would run more risk by neglecting my warning than if he were to fight a dozen battles for his king and country.”Though the midshipmen were little inclined to put much belief in the message of the mad creature, they promised to deliver it as soon as they met their captain. After consulting together, they agreed that their proper course was to row along the bay towards the Castle, in the hopes that he might have gone there.

In a turret chamber in Kilfinnan Castle sat two young ladies. It was apparently their private boudoir. It had been elegantly furnished, but the drapery had somewhat faded, and the air of freshness it had once possessed had long since departed. The window out of which the ladies were gazing looked forth over the wide Atlantic, and the eldest was dressed in deep mourning, apparently her usual costume, while the air of sadness in her countenance seemed to be habitual. The younger one was full of life and animation, though occasionally, as she looked up at her friend, she, too, became sad.

“That is a strange story, Sophy, you were reading just now from the newspaper,” said the youngest,—“I mean about Lord Eden; I cannot understand how a man of his rank and position should condescend to marry a girl of low degree, however virtuous or excellent she might be. Thesemésalliancescan never answer. Too soon the one of more refined habits and ideas discovers a degree of coarseness and vulgarity in the other, which must ultimately cause separation. No; my only notion of a happy union is, that where people are of the same rank and education, and all their sympathies are in unison—”

“You know so little of life, dear Nora, that I do not think you are capable of judging,” answered her cousin Sophy. “I do not say, however, that in the main you are not right, but there may be exceptions, in which true happiness may be found. I do not say Lord Eden is right in marrying this girl. At the same time, she may have more natural refinement than could be expected. I have heard of such instances.”

“I, on the contrary, Sophy, remember hearing my father speak of a very different case, in which a country girl was taken out of her sphere, and educated, and, I think, became the wife of one of our ministers. As long as she was at rest, she appeared very elegant, but if she got at all excited, or, as was sometimes the case, lost her temper, she then exhibited her real condition; and if, as I consider, it is very bad for a man to marry a person of inferior rank, surely it is much worse for a lady to marry one who is her inferior.”

Sophy smiled sadly.

“No; I shall hold to my own opinion,” said Nora, “and I do not think that anybody would induce me to marry a person, however elegant and refined he might appear, unless I knew he was of gentle blood.”

The conversation of the young ladies was interrupted by Sophy exclaiming—

“Bring the glass, Nora; I see a vessel standing in for the bay. Her canvas looks very white and shining. I believe she is a man-of-war.”

The telescope, which stood on a stand, had been, for some purpose, removed from the window, and it was now brought to its usual place by Nora. They both looked through it, one after the other.

“Yes, there can be no doubt of the matter,” said Nora; “her square yards, her tall masts and white canvas show at once what she is. She does not appear to me to be a frigate. I think she is a smaller vessel—a corvette,—and very beautiful vessels they are.”

While this conversation was going forward, the ship rapidly approached the shore, under a wide spread of canvas. They had soon an opportunity of ascertaining her character. At length she stood into the bay, and, furling her sails, came to an anchor. The wind was at that time sufficiently from the north to enable her to obtain perfect shelter, and she floated calmly on the smooth waters. It was still early in the day. They watched for a short time, but no boat could put off to approach the Castle, though they fancied they saw one standing in for another part of the bay.

At that time Ireland was suffering, as she had long been, from her usual chronic disorder—discontent. Disturbances had occurred here and there in the west and south among the Riband Men, or White Boys, or United Irishmen, by which names the rebels were at different times and places known. The Government, therefore, had considered it necessary to send vessels of war to cruise up and down the coast, that their blue-jackets and marines might render such assistance as might be required. This was so generally the case at present, that the arrival of the corvette did not cause any unusual sensation among the inhabitants of the coast who lived near enough to the sea to observe her. Several men-of-war had in the same way entered the bay of late, and, after remaining a few days, had taken their departure. The young ladies had arranged that, later in the day, they would take a ride over the downs, and, after calling on Miss O’Reilly, at the Vicarage, look in upon some of the poor people whom they were in the habit of visiting.

Meantime, we must go to the other end of the bay, where an old man might be seen descending the narrow gorge which led down to the small cove where the Widow O’Neil resided. It was Father O’Rourke. He proceeded on in a somewhat meditative mood, until he reached the cottage. He opened the door, and found the widow sitting on the usual stool, employed in mending her nets.

“And what brings you here, Father O’Rourke?” she said, looking up at him with a glance which showed that he was not a favourite of hers.

“Widow, I have come to speak about a matter of importance,” he answered. “I hear, in spite of all my warnings, and all the instruction I have given you, by which you would be sure to find your way to heaven, that you still go to that heretic minister, Mr Jamieson, as you used to do when I before warned you. Now, I tell you, widow, if you love your soul, you must go there no more. I am not going to be warning you for ever. Do you hear my words? Do you intend to obey them?”

“Father O’Rourke,” said the widow, looking calmly at him, “I have a great respect for your office, and for the holy religion of which you are a priest; there is nothing I have ever said against that. I am a good Catholic, as I have always been, and you shall not be the person to throw a stone at me; but if I go to the Vicarage, I go to hear the gentle words of that poor blind lady, and the minister never speaks anything to me but what is faithful and true. He is a good man, Father O’Rourke, and I wish I was as sure of going to heaven as he is: that is what I have got to tell you.”

“Oh, Widow O’Neil, those are evil words you are speaking!” exclaimed the priest; “you are just disobeying the holy mother Church; you are just doing what will bring you down the road to destruction, and I tell you, I believe it was your obstinacy, and your love for those heretics, that was the cause of the loss of your son. He is gone, and I hope he is gone to glory, for it is not for the want of me saying masses for his soul, if he has not; for sure I am, that, if he had remained here, and listened longer to the instruction of that false heretic, he would have gone the way you are so anxious to go, Widow O’Neil.”

The widow now stood up, throwing from her the nets, which had hitherto been on her knees. She stepped back a pace or two, and stretched out her hands.

“Father O’Rourke,” she exclaimed, “it is not the truth you are speaking to me! My boy never learned anything but what was good when he went to the Vicarage: and more than that, though you say he has gone from this world, there is something deep down in my heart which tells me he is still alive. If he were dead, my heart would feel very different to what it does now. I tell you, Father O’Rourke, I believe my son is alive, and will come back some day to see me. I know he will. Do you think I doubt his love? Do I doubt my love for him? No. Father O’Rourke, you are a childless man yourself, and you do not know what the love of a mother is for her child, and I do not think you know what the love of a child is for its mother—a fond, loving mother, as I have been,—not such a child as mine. The day will come when Dermot will stand here, as you are standing here; but he will not be blaming his old mother as you are blaming her. He will come to speak words of comfort and consolation into my ear. Instead of that, Father O’Rourke, you have brought nothing but cursing. You tell me I am in the downward road to destruction. Is that the way you should speak to a lone widow, because she loves her son, and likes those to speak who knew him, and who would talk about him to her and praise him, and who tell her what a noble, clever youth he was?”

“Widow O’Neil!” exclaimed Father O’Rourke, an angry frown gathering on his brow, “year after year I have spoken to you as I am now speaking. I have warned you before, I have warned your boy Dermot. I tell you, he would not take the warning, and he would have suffered the consequences of his disobedience, but I do care for your soul, and it is on account of that soul that I want you to put faith in the holy mother Church. If you do, all will be right, but if you go and listen to the words of that Protestant minister, all will be wrong, and you, Widow O’Neil, will have to go and live for ever with the accursed; ay, for ever and ever in fire and torment.” With such force and energy did the priest speak, and so fierce did he look, that for the moment he made the poor old woman tremble and turn pale with fear. She quickly, however, recovered herself.

“You may go, Father O’Rourke,” she exclaimed. “Once I was your slave, but I am your slave no longer. I am a poor ignorant woman, but I have had the truth told me, and that truth has made me free of you; say what you will, I do not fear you.”

The priest on hearing these words positively stamped on the ground, and gnashed his teeth with anger. He was not one of the polished fathers of the Church, who have been taught from their youth to conceal their feelings. He was certainly not a trained disciple of Ignatius Loyola. Again and again he stamped, and then uttering a fearful anathema on the occupant of the hut, he turned round, and slamming the door, left her as he had often before done, and hastened upwards towards the cliffs.

While this scene was enacting below, a young naval officer, who had landed from a boat which had come from the corvette, lately brought up in the bay, had climbed to the summit of the downs, and was taking his way across them towards the gorge, up which the priest was hastening. He had, however, not got very far, when he heard a voice singing a wild and plaintive Irish air. He stopped to listen, and as he did so, a figure, dressed in fantastic fashion, appeared from behind some broken ground in the neighbourhood of the downs. She advanced towards him, and then suddenly stopped, looking eagerly in his face.

“Who are you, stranger—who are you who come to these shores? It is not good for you to be alone here; if you come, come with armed men, with muskets on their shoulders and swords by their sides, for that slight weapon that you carry would avail you nothing against the enemies you are likely to meet here. Go back, I tell you, the way you came. I may seem silly and mad, and mad and silly I am, but I can sing; few can sing like me. Now listen stranger, listen to my song.” She burst forth again in the same wild strains which at first attracted the young officer’s attention.

“But what reason could you give me why I should follow your advice? I like your song, however; can you not sing me another?”

“Yes,” she answered, “mad Kathleen has many a song in her head, but it does not always come when called for, it is only as the fit seizes her that she can bring it forth. Never mind listening to my song, however, but follow my advice. There is your boat even now out in the bay; go, make a signal to it to come back to you, or evil will befall you.”

“I can scarcely suppose that, provided I do not leave the shore,” answered the officer. “I thank you, however, for your advice, but I do not purpose wandering far from where I now am.”

“Even here where you stand you are not safe; but I have warned you once, and I cannot warn you more,” exclaimed the mad woman, as with wild gestures she retreated back to the spot from which she appeared to have come. The young officer watched her till she disappeared. A shade of melancholy came over his countenance.

“I might have asked her about some of the people hereabouts,” he said to himself. “Her warning perhaps is not to be despised; I will sit down here, and wait till the boat returns.”

The officer was approaching the edge of the cliff when Father O’Rourke reached the downs; seeing the stranger, he advanced towards him. The temper of the priest had not calmed down, so it seemed, since his encounter with the poor widow. As he approached the young officer, he looked at him earnestly.

“What brings you here?” he exclaimed. “What business have armed men to come upon our coasts, let me ask you?”

“Really, sir,” said the officer, drawing himself up, “I bear his Majesty’s commission as commander of yonder sloop of war, and in the performance of my duty, I have landed on the shores of this bay; but I do not understand why I should be thus roughly spoken to by one especially, who, judging from his appearance, is a catholic priest.”

“You judge rightly, young man,” answered Father O’Rourke, “but I am not to be deceived by appearances, and though you may call yourself what you will, I suspect you to be either the commander of a privateer, if not rather of a vile buccaneer. We have had visits before now from such gentry, and I should advise you to leave our shores without delay.”

“I cannot understand your meaning,” exclaimed the officer; “I repeat, I came here in the performance of my duty, and I little expected to be treated thus by the first stranger I might meet.”

The priest seemed to think that he had proceeded too far; whatever might have been his motive in thus insulting one whom he must have known was a naval officer, or for some reason, he thought fit suddenly to change his tactics.

“Pardon me, sir,” he said in a soothing voice, which he well knew how to assume, “I see that I was mistaken in my first supposition, and to prove my sincerity, I shall be happy if I can render to you any service in my power.”

“I willingly accept your apologies,” answered the officer, regarding the priest intently, as if to ascertain whether he was to be trusted. “On my way along the shore, I intend visiting some of the little coves I see to the northward of these downs, and now, sir, perhaps you can inform me whether I am likely to find any people residing among them?”

“But few, if any,” answered the priest, “they are nearly all dead or gone away who once lived there; the curse of your country has been upon them. The aged and the young, the married and the single, the widow and her children, have all been swept away.”

“Yes, I have heard that great changes have taken place in this neighbourhood of late years,” answered the young officer, a shade of melancholy crossing his countenance. “And now, sir, in spite of the somewhat rough way in which you first addressed me, I wish you good morning, and thank you for your information.”

Father O’Rourke had, all the time he was speaking, been examining the countenance of the young officer.

“Ah, to be sure, I was somewhat irritated by a trifle just before I met you, but your politeness has conquered me,” he answered blandly, “and I beg you, should you come near my humble abode, to believe that I shall be happy to receive you. We poor, oppressed Catholics have little to offer our guests, but to such as I possess you will be welcome. Our business is to look after the souls of our parishioners. If we can but show them the right way to heaven we should be content.”

The young officer seemed somewhat inclined to smile at these remarks of the priest.

“I will not fail to avail myself of your invitation,” he answered, “but at present I do not intend to extend my walk along the sea-shore.”

“Well then, sir, as you have wished me good morning, I must wish you the same, and a pleasant walk to you, only let me advise you to be cautious where you go; it isn’t just the safest part of the country for a king’s officer to be found wandering in by himself. However, sir, I have given you a friendly warning, and now again farewell.” The priest, somewhat to the surprise of the officer, considering the father’s previous greeting, put out his hand, which he was too courteous not to take, then quickly turning round, Father O’Rourke proceeded up the gorge into the country.

Father O’Rourke was not accustomed to explain to others the object of his proceedings. He had good reasons in his own estimation for everything that he did. They were possibly conscientious; but then his conscience might have been a very erring guide, and led him far wrong, as is the case with many other people in the world.

“It cannot be helped,” said the priest to himself, alluding to something which was passing in his own mind, “but no harm may come of it to me after all. The boys were to meet at O’Keef’s last night, and there will be plenty of them still about there; they will be glad enough of the chance of getting hold of a king’s officer, and if he shows fight and some one gives him a knock on the head, or sends a pistol-bullet through him, it will settle the business. He is certain to be down in the cove, and if the boys are quick they will catch him there. I am pretty sure that I am not mistaken, but at all events he will be a valuable prize if he can be got hold of any way.”

Such thoughts occupied the mind of the priest as turning off from the beaten path he took his way across a mountainous region which still remained in all its primitive wildness. After proceeding for some distance at a speed which was surprising considering his age, he reached some rude turf-covered huts, scarcely discernible from the rocks and grass amid which they stood. The priest gave a peculiar call, which soon brought out a number of shaggy-looking heads and eager faces with grey frieze-coats beneath them. Father O’Rourke did not take long to explain the object of his visit, which was quickly comprehended, nor did he wrongly estimate the inclinations of his hearers, who gleefully undertook to carry out the plan he proposed to them. All things being arranged to his satisfaction, he returned to his own abode, saying to himself, “I warned him of danger, so that if he is attacked and escapes, he cannot accuse me of having had anything to do in the matter.”

The officer was about to prosecute his intention of descending into the cove, when he heard merry voices near him. The speakers seemed to be climbing up the cliffs, and they soon made their appearance on its summit. Touching their caps as they neared the officer—

“The boat has come for you, sir,” said one of them.

“Very well,” was the answer. “Go down and amuse yourselves on the beach for a short time and I will join you. I am not ready to go off just yet.”

The young midshipmen receiving these orders managed to get down the cliffs in a way few but midshipmen could have done without breaking their necks.

“I wonder what our captain’s about,” said one of them. “I should have thought that he would have gone to the Castle. Lord Kilfinnan lives there, you know; and I remember hearing how constantly he used to be at his house out in the West Indies. Did you ever see Lady Nora?”

“No,” answered the other; “I do not remember having heard her spoken of.”

“Oh, she is the Earl’s daughter, and a very beautiful girl she is, too,” observed the first speaker. “There is Lady Sophy Danvers, her cousin, too, who lives with her. She was engaged for a long time to that Captain Falkner, you know, who commanded theCynthia; but, I suppose her relations did not like her to marry him because he wasn’t a lord, and intended her for a duke or a marquis perhaps.”

“I do not see why they should have done that,” answered the other midshipman. “In my opinion, a naval officer is equal to any lord in the land; at all events, a post-captain is. If I were a post-captain, I know, I should not hesitate to pay my respects to any earl’s daughter. Why, just think, to have a fine frigate and three or four hundred men under one’s orders, and, by-and-by, a line-of-battle ship, and then a post-captain becomes an admiral, remember; and many admirals have been made lords themselves. Why, there is Lord Nelson; he was only a midshipman to begin with; and Lord Collingwood, and Lord Saint Vincent, and Lord Howe, and many others; they were all midshipmen, just as you and I are. Now, just look at our captain for instance; if any one deserves to be made a lord he does. What a gallant fellow he is. Why, if it had not been for him, they say, theCynthiawould have been taken. It was he assisted in lashing the enemy’s bowsprit to the frigate’s foremast, and then repelling the boarders who were swarming on board; and then, there are no end of things he did in the West Indies, and in other parts of the world. He has been in half-a-dozen cutting-out expeditions, and, since he has been a commander, has taken several prizes. Did you ever hear how, when the French frigate was sinking, he refused to leave her, and stayed on board to assist the captain in keeping her afloat at the risk of his own life. Now, that is the sort of thing to be proud of. I often think more of a man who has done those generous actions than one who has gained a hard-fought battle. However, what do you say to having a race along the sands? Here, we will get most of the fellows on shore, and I am ready to give a prize to the best runner.”

“I will give my pocket-knife,” said the midshipman; “that will be an encouragement to the men. They are good sort of fellows, and I like to afford them amusement. It is little we or they get these days, kept at sea month after month.”

As it may be supposed, the young midshipmen were great favourites on board the corvette, and for some time they kept their crew amused as they had proposed. At length they began to wonder that the captain did not appear, and they began to fear that some accident had befallen him. At last they proposed climbing up the cliff again to look for him. They reached the top at last, and looked round the downs on every side; no one was to be seen. Then curiosity led them a short distance inland. Suddenly, a figure which made them start rose up before them.

“Who are you looking for, young sirs?” exclaimed mad Kathleen. “I know without your telling me. He is gone—gone away, and you must follow to find him; but listen, boys, I have a message for him. Now, don’t you fail to give it. Tell him there are enemies watching for him, and that if ever he comes on shore by himself he will be sure to be set upon, and all his strength and courage will avail him nothing. He is a brave man, your captain, and I wish him well.”

“Why, how do you know anything about him?” asked one of the midshipmen. “I did not know he had ever been here before.”

“Mad Kathleen knows more things than you wot of,” answered the mad woman, with a loud laugh, whirling her hands as she spoke. “Now, go to the Castle as I bid you, and give him my message. He would run more risk by neglecting my warning than if he were to fight a dozen battles for his king and country.”

Though the midshipmen were little inclined to put much belief in the message of the mad creature, they promised to deliver it as soon as they met their captain. After consulting together, they agreed that their proper course was to row along the bay towards the Castle, in the hopes that he might have gone there.

Chapter Seventeen.As the commander of the corvette was about to descend the glen, his attention was arrested by the faint tramp of horses’ hoofs passing rapidly over the downs. He turned his head and at that instant saw a young lady on horseback, not far from him, cantering gaily along, while at a short distance behind her was another lady, followed by a groom. At that moment the figure of the mad woman, which had a short time before appeared to him, rose suddenly from behind the ground where he had last seen her. She uttered a wild shriek; the effect was to make the leading horse start and rear violently. The animal, apparently, was not well broken in. Again and again it reared, backing down towards the edge of the cliff. The young officer saw the lady’s danger, and in an instant sprang towards her. She uttered a shriek as she discovered how fearfully near the edge of the cliff her horse had carried her. The officer grasped her bridle, but in vain tried to draw back the frightened animal. It seemed resolved tothrow itself over the precipice. In another moment the lady and her steed would have been carried to destruction.“Throw yourself from your saddle, and trust to me,” exclaimed the young officer imploringly.She cast herself forward and fell into his arms. Alas! her habit caught in the stirrup. Again the horse reared.“I will perish with her,” exclaimed the young man mentally. Happily, the skirt tore, and in another moment was disengaged; while the frightened animal, with one bound, leaped over the cliff. So extreme was the danger to which the young lady had been exposed, that scarcely knowing she had escaped it, she fainted. The young officer, with his precious burden, hurried up the downs, when her companion, jumping from her horse, came to his assistance.“O Nora, Nora,” she exclaimed, “do tell me that you are alive! O that we had some water to give her, such a faint as this is dangerous. What can be done?”The groom, observing that there was a stream a few hundred yards on, dashed forward on his horse, and quickly returned with his hat full.Lady Sophy, loosening Nora’s dress round her neck, and holding her head on her knee, sprinkled the water over her face, which was turned in the direction of the wind. By this means she quickly returned to consciousness, and, opening her eyes, they fell on the countenance of the young officer.“Oh, Captain Denham,” she exclaimed, “I owe my life to you. In another moment I should have been dashed to pieces. I thought that I had gone over the precipice. How grateful my dear father will be to you!”“Then that must be your ship,” said Lady Sophy, pointing to the corvette. “You must come with us at once to the Castle.”Captain Denham, of course, could only express his very great satisfaction at having been the means of preserving the life of Lady Nora, though he could claim no credit for having done so. Whatever had been his previous intentions, he could do nothing else than accompany the ladies till he had seen them safe at the Castle. He made anxious inquiries after the Earl, and found, from the account they gave him, that he was greatly broken in health, not having recovered from the effects of the West Indian climate, or the loss of his son. In many respects the meeting could not fail to be a sad one. The sight of Captain Denham recalled painfully to Lady Sophy the death of her intended husband, while Lady Nora, naturally, could not help thinking of her young brother, who had been Captain Denham’s friend.The distance to the Castle was considerable, but Lady Nora declared her inability to mount a horse, even if one had been sent for; nor would she consent to take that of Lady Sophy. Supported, however, by the arm of the captain, she proceeded towards home. They had many things to talk about. Captain Denham had to describe how he had been sent to the coast of Ireland to render assistance to any of the loyal subjects of the king who might require it, whilst the ladies described their passage home, and the feelings with which they had returned once more to the old Castle.“Things are greatly changed,” observed Lady Nora, “we have none of the gay society we used to have here; my father also is too much out of spirits to see company. Occasionally a few neighbours look in upon us; or when any ship comes into the bay we see some of the officers, and Mr Jamieson and dear Miss O’Reilly come over to pay us a visit; but you, Captain Denham, will always be welcome.”Captain Denham and his fair companions had arrived at the Castle some time before the midshipmen with the boat appeared, having been joined in the meantime by the second lieutenant.The Earl welcomed him warmly, and begged him to take up his residence at the Castle; but this invitation he was compelled to decline, as he made it a point of duty never to sleep away from the ship at night.Lady Nora had sufficiently recovered to appear at dinner, to which Denham’s officers, who had come on shore, were also invited. Just before dinner Mr Jamieson and his blind niece arrived. Lady Nora was delighted to see them, and introduced Captain Denham to them both. The blind lady seemed to take especial interest in him. She plied him with questions, asking him what part of the world he had visited, in what ship he had served, and in what actions he had been engaged.The Earl had broken through the usual custom of sitting late at dinner; indeed the gentlemen present seemed in no way disposed to follow it. Soon after the ladies had retired, Mr Jamieson and Captain Denham led the way to the drawing-room. Captain Denham approached Lady Nora and inquired anxiously if she felt perfectly recovered from the effects of her alarming accident. “Oh, yes; indeed I am,” she answered, glancing up at him with a look which might have made many men vain. “I dare not trust myself to thank you as I ought, or to speak about it. I cannot help thinking of what would have been my fate had you not been there to save me. How often have I crossed those downs without dreaming of danger; and indeed it was very curious how that poor mad woman should have startled my horse. I have met her often before, and she has done much the same sort of thing; but the poor animal was young, and had not been ridden for some days. Sophy and I were on our way to visit some of the poor people we are accustomed to call upon, and I was anxious to see an old widow who lives in a little cove under where you saw me; but that can be a matter of no interest to you.”As she spoke she again gazed up in his face. Something strange seemed to flash across her mind. She cast another earnest, inquiring look at him. The colour mounted to his cheek. His eyes fell, then again he looked earnestly at her. Nora’s breath came and went rapidly; her bosom heaved.“What is the matter with Nora?” exclaimed Lady Sophy, springing forward, “she is fainting. Help! help!”In an instant Lady Sophy was by Nora’s side, and just in time to receive her as she fell fainting into her arms. Captain Denham stood for an instant so overwhelmed with some deep emotion, as scarcely to comprehend what had occurred.The bell was rung, and several attendants rushed in, and Nora was borne fainting from the room.It was still daylight, but just at this moment dark clouds began to collect in the sky, casting a gloom over the landscape. The lieutenant of the corvette had gone to the window looking out over the ocean. He hurriedly came back, and while his commander was standing still bewildered it seemed by what had occurred, he came up to him, and said—“Sir, there is a change in the weather. The wind has increased considerably, and the bay in a short time will be no place for us.”This address aroused Captain Denham.“You are right, Matson,” he answered, looking out at the window for an instant, “I will go on board immediately. We must bid farewell to the Earl and be off. There is not a moment to lose, and I hope Evans will get the ship under weigh without waiting for me.”Just as he was quitting the room Lady Sophy re-entered it, and assured him that Lady Nora had quickly recovered, though still unnerved by the danger she had gone through. “I trust that she will have perfectly recovered by to-morrow,” she added. “And, believe me, Captain Denham, you will always be a welcome guest at the Castle.”She spoke earnestly, her looks giving expression to her words.“She is a dear, high-minded girl, and, believe me, I prize her, and will watch over her as a sister, or I should say rather, as a daughter.”“Thank you, thank you,” answered the young captain, pressing Lady Sophy’s hand; “you know my feelings for your cousin, but to no one else would I venture to acknowledge them. To her I feel that I have no right to speak of them. I leave myself, therefore, in your hands.”“I trust to be so guided as to act for the best for you both,” said Lady Sophy, “but I must not longer detain you. I hope that we may see you here again before many days have passed.”Well satisfied, as he had reason to be, with what Lady Sophy had said, Captain Denham followed his officers, who had already preceded him to the boats. He stepped in, and the order was given to shove off. The boats made the best of their way towards the corvette. The wind was already blowing strongly, and a heavy sea rolled into the bay.“It is as much as we shall do, if we manage to beat out of the bay this evening,” observed the lieutenant to the midshipman in his boat, “I ought to have kept my eyes more about me, though it is natural enough the captain’s should have been preoccupied.”“Yes, sir, indeed that is a lovely girl, Lady Nora; he will be a happy man who wins her.”“That is a matter, Mr Merton, too delicate for me to pronounce on,” answered the lieutenant; “but I was speaking of the difficulty of beating out of the bay.”“Oh yes, sir, I beg your pardon,” said the midshipman; “still I believe we shall be able to carry all sail, and if so, theAriadnewill soon find her way out of this difficulty.”“That is an ugly reef to the north,” observed the lieutenant; “I would rather it were fifty miles away than where it is.”“Yet it affords us good shelter when the wind is as it was this morning.”“So it does,” answered the lieutenant, “but it is directly in our way when we have to beat out when the wind is in the west.”The captain made no remark to the midshipman in his boat; he was too completely absorbed in his own thoughts, though he occasionally urged his crew to greater exertion by the usual exclamation of “Give way, lads, give way.”The boats were soon alongside. Directly they were seen coming, the officer in command had begun to get the corvette under weigh, and when the captain stepped on board the anchor was hove up to the bows.The corvette, under topsails and top-gallant-sails, was now hauled close to the wind. She cast to the north, and stood directly towards the reef of rocks which appeared ahead. The captain took his place in the weather rigging, to con her, while scarcely had sail been made on the ship before the increase of wind made it doubtful whether she would carry what was already set. The dark clouds came rolling up in thick masses from the west overhead, while heavy seas, topped with foaming crests, rolled in from the same direction. The corvette heeled over until her lee ports were in the water, still it was not a moment for shortening sail. Now the young commander gazed at the shore under his lee, now to the dark rocks ahead, and now at his masts and spars. “No higher,” he had more than once to cry out, as the men at the helm, anxious to gain every advantage, kept her too close to the wind. “We cannot hope to weather the reef on this tack,” he observed to the lieutenant, who was near him.The crew were all at their stations, attentive to obey the least sign from their commander. Now a fiercer gust than ordinary made the ship heel lower in the water. Now she rose again. It was a critical moment as she rushed forward with headlong speed towards the threatening reef, over which the sea was already furiously beating. Still the young commander stood calm and collected. Now his hand was raised, and as he glanced towards the helmsman, now he looked once more to the sails aloft. “Hands about ship,” he shouted in a clear, ringing voice, which every man heard fore and aft. “Helm’s-alee! Tacks and sheets! Main sail haul!” It seemed as if in another moment the beautiful vessel would spring forward upon the threatening rocks. She was in stays, but the slightest shift of wind to the south would have driven her to destruction. Anxiously the commander looked at the fore-topsail still aback. For an instant the ship’s head appeared not to be moving. Then gradually the wind forced her round. “Of all haul!” he shouted in a cheerful voice, as she sprang forward towards the opposite side of the bay. Still she was not free. The headway she made was counteracted by the heavy seas which now rolled in upon the land, and forced her towards it. Now she was standing towards Kilfinnan Castle. The commander turning, looked at the reef they had left; then once more casting his gaze ahead,—“We shall scarcely weather it the next tack,” he said to himself. “If the wind holds as it does now, however, and if it does not increase much, the tight little ship will still work her way through it.”Anxiously those in the Castle watched the progress of the corvette. They well knew the danger to which she was exposed, for although many a year had passed since any large ship had been cast away in their bay, yet there were traditions of men-of-war being driven on the coast, and the whole of their gallant crews perishing. Numerous merchant vessels and smaller craft had also from time to time been dashed to pieces on the rocks, and many sad tales there were of lives being lost, when the persons on board the vessels appeared within but a short distance of the shore.Nora had sufficiently recovered to go to the window and gaze forth upon the vessel.“O, what a beautiful fabric she is,” she exclaimed; “how rapidly she draws near!” With the glass she could almost see those on board. “But will she, do you think, escape that reef to the north, when she once more tacks.”“Oh, yes, I trust so,” answered Lady Sophy, “he who commands on board is an experienced seaman, you know, and if any human being could carry the ship out of the bay, he will do so.”Besides the young ladies, several other persons on shore were watching the progress of the corvette, as she endeavoured to beat out of the bay. Far down below, in the sheltered cove, in front of her cottage, stood Widow O’Neil. Her white locks, escaping from the band which generally bound them, streamed in the wind. The hood of her red cloak was thrown back, and while with one hand she steadied herself by one of the supports of the deep eaves of the cottage, she stretched forth the other towards the ocean, as if she would direct the course of the bark which struggled through the foaming waves.“They are brave men on board that craft,” she exclaimed to herself, “but oh, it is hard work they will have, to get clear of the bay. Proud and trim as that beautiful ship looked this morning, who can say but what before another sun rises, she will be a shattered wreck upon yonder cruel rocks. Such a sight I have seen night after night as I lay on my couch, I know not whether asleep or awake; but, oh, may Heaven protect those on board from such a fate, if their vessel, stout as she may be, is thrown upon yonder reef.“My boy, my boy! Even now he may be on the stormy ocean, threatened with shipwreck, as are those in yonder beautiful vessel. May Heaven protect him and them!”As she spoke, the fishwife stretched forth her neck more eagerly over the ocean, and again and again she offered up a prayer for the safety of those on board the ship which struggled below her. High up the glen, in a sheltered place, yet still commanding a view of the bay, sat another person. It was Father O’Rourke. He, too, was watching the ship, with a very different feeling animating his heart, to that which worked in the bosom of the widow. No prayer for the safety of those on board escaped his lips. He seemed to gaze with satisfaction on the fearful danger to which she was exposed. He more than once exclaimed to himself, “She cannot escape yonder rocks, and then that pert and daring youth who set me at defiance, with all his companions, will meet the fate which they and their Saxon countrymen so well merit. Curses on the heads of those who execute the behests of King George and his ministers. While we have red-coats and blue-jackets arrayed against us, what hope is there of liberty for old Ireland? I hate them all. From the king on his throne to the meanest soldier who trails a pike in his service!”At a short distance on a high and projecting part of the cliff, stood a wild and fantastic figure. It was that of mad Kathleen. She waved her arms round and round. Now she shouted, as if she would warn those on board the ship of the danger they were approaching. Again and again she cried out, as if encouraging them to perseverance in their bold attempt at beating out of the bay. Sometimes she uttered blessings on their heads, especially that of their young commander.“A brave youth, a noble youth he is,” she exclaimed; “even when I set eyes on him this morning I felt my heart drawn towards him. Grievous would it be for him to lose that fine ship, his first command, and still more grievous were his life to be taken by the angry waves!”Thus she continued for some time, until she was interrupted by a hand being placed on her shoulder. She turned round and saw Miss O’Reilly standing near her.“What, Kathleen, are you trying to show yonder ship the way to beat out of our bay?” asked Mr Jamieson, in his usual kind voice.“I would I were on board, minister, that I might help to guide them,” she answered, with a laugh. “There are many worse pilots than I am, and often in girlhood’s days have I sailed with my father on yonder sea, sometimes, as now, tossed with waves, at other times calm and blue, like a young maiden’s eye, void of guile and treachery.”“But, tell me, Kathleen, do you think the ship will manage to escape from the dangers by which she is surrounded?” asked Miss O’Reilly, in a somewhat agitated voice. “They say her captain is a brave and gallant officer, and it would be grievous if he were to lose that beautiful vessel, for so I am told she is.”“God who guides the winds and gives them power alone knows whether yonder ship will gain the open sea in safety,” answered Kathleen; “but I will tell you, dear lady, if you stay by me, what progress she makes. If the prayer of a poor mad creature can save her, she is safe enough, and the wind will hold as it does now, sufficiently to the south to enable her to clear the reef. Oh, Miss O’Reilly, even now she seems rushing forward to destruction.”“Whereabouts is she?” asked Miss O’Reilly eagerly.“Not two hundred fathoms, it seems at this moment, from the reef,” answered Kathleen. “If she can come about without difficulty, she will escape, but if not, in a few minutes she will be cast on the rocks, and then you know too well what will happen.”“Tell me, good Kathleen, tell me,” said the blind lady, after a short silence; “has she gone about? is there once more a prospect of her escaping?”“Again she is in stays!” exclaimed Kathleen. “See, see! the wind seems to have caught her. Oh, may merciful Providence watch over her! It seems to me that her head is once more turning towards the dreadful rocks. Alas, alas! no power can save her.”“Oh, may Heaven protect them!” exclaimed the blind lady, turning her sightless eyes in the direction of the ship. “Oh, may those brave men on board escape the fearful danger in which they are placed!”“Your prayers are heard, lady! your prayers are heard!” shouted Kathleen; “the wind has taken her head-sails, and once more she is on the starboard tack, standing away from that fearful reef.”Mr Jamieson and his niece stood for some time watching the progress of the corvette, till the shades of evening, increased by the thick clouds which obscured the sky, hid her from their sight; but they could not persuade Kathleen to leave the spot, for she declared that she could still see the ship through the mist. At length, the minister and his niece returned to their home, leaving poor Kathleen still wildly waving her arms and shouting, until her voice was hoarse, as if she would address those on board the vessel.“See, see! she is once more about! Surely her bowsprit is pointing more seaward than it was before, and if the wind was to shift a little more to the south, she would soon be clear of yonder fearful reef.”The corvette once more going about, stood to the north. Although the wind might have drawn a little more to the south, yet this advantage was counteracted by the fierceness with which it blew. The masts, with more sail on them than it would have, under other circumstances, been deemed prudent to set, bent with the unusual pressure. Sometimes, indeed, as Captain Denham gazed up at them, they seemed like fishing-rods, so fearfully did they bend before the breeze. The first lieutenant and master were also looking up at them with not less anxiety than did the captain. “They will scarcely stand this pressure,” observed the former; “what say you, master?”“We must keep the canvas set, at all events, and trust to Providence,” answered the master. “This is no moment for taking in a reef. If they go and the ship refuses to stay, we must bring up, though I fear the little vessel will scarcely hold her own against the heavy seas which come rolling into this bay; and, to my idea, both she, and some of us on board, will leave our bones to rot on the strand under our lee, if it comes to that.”“Let’s hope for the best, master,” answered the first lieutenant. “See how calm our captain looks. You would never suppose that he is aware of the danger in which we are placed.”“He knows it pretty clearly, though,” observed the master. “Hold on, good sticks, hold on,” he exclaimed, looking up at the masts. “They are tough spars, I know, and they are now giving good proof of their quality.”Sometimes, from the direction of the vessel’s head, it appeared possible that she might weather the reef towards which she was approaching. Then, again, she fell off, and it was evident that she must make another tack before there was a chance of her doing so. The commander seemed of this opinion, and was clearly unwilling to approach again as near as before to the reef. Again he shouted, “Hands about ship!” As before, the helm was put down, the tacks and sheets were raised, the men hauled with a will at the braces, and the ship’s head, coming up to the wind, continued for some moments pointing west, to the open part of the bay. Anxiously the commander watched her movements. At one time it seemed as if she had got stern way, and he opened his mouth about to give the order to let go the anchor and to shorten sail. Those on board knew the order would have been followed by another, dreaded by all seamen—to cut away the masts, the only mode of proceeding to enable the corvette to ride out the gale. Again and again the captain looked up at the head-sails. “She is paying off!” he exclaimed. A shout, though immediately suppressed, burst from the throats of the crew. For the moment they were safe from the threatened danger. Again the corvette stood across the bay. The topmasts, as before, bent to the gale.“We shall easily clear that reef,” observed the master. “Well, it is a pleasure to see a man con a ship as our fine young skipper does. These are moments to try a man’s mettle, and he has shown that he is of the true sort.”The corvette flew across the bay, almost, it seemed, with lightning speed, so soon was she again on the opposite side. Another critical moment had arrived, and it was only to be hoped that the gale would not come down with greater force than before while she was in stays, or very likely at that moment her topmasts would be carried away. Again about she came; this time without difficulty, and now her head pointing seaward, she stood out from the bay, still as those on shore watched her through the fast gathering gloom of evening, she seemed to be drawing nearer and nearer to the reef. Now once more she looked up to the west, then again to the north; still the masts and spars stood. Yet, after all, she was nearer the reef than under such circumstances a seaman would wish to find his ship.“Mr Matson,” said the commander, looking down at his first lieutenant, “we must at once take two reefs in the topsails; but it is a risk for the hands aloft, a fearful risk indeed,” he added.“I am ready to lead the way, sir,” exclaimed a young seaman, who was no other than Ned Davis, the commander’s old companion.“Give the orders then, Matson,” said the captain.“Aloft, there,” shouted the first lieutenant. Scarcely, however, had the men sprang into the rigging, when there was a loud crash. The main-topmast had gone close to the cap. The straggling sail and wreck of the spars hanging over the side.“Clear away the wreck,” cried the captain. “Not a moment to be lost. We must save the other masts.”The men flew aloft, Ned Davis being among the first drawing out their knives from their pockets as they did so. In a few seconds the ropes were severed, and the mast and spar fell overboard, with the still loudly flapping sail. At the same moment the crew throwing themselves out on the fore-topsail yard, that sail was quickly reefed. “You must take another reef in it, Mr Matson,” said the commander, “closely reef it, or that mast will go also.” The mizen-topsail with greater ease was closely reefed. In consequence of the ship having been deprived even for that short time of the power which urged her through the seas, she had drifted down, it seemed, close upon the reef. Once more the captain looked anxiously to leeward.“We shall still weather the reef,” he exclaimed to the first lieutenant, who, after gazing at it, looked in his face as if to ask a question, “Unless,” the commander added, “the wind draws more out of the west.”Heeling over, however, less than she had before done to the blast, her head pointed seaward, clear of the reef, still, should she be making much leeway, it would be doubtful whether, after all, she would clear it. To tack close to it, crippled as she was, would be dangerous in the extreme. The commander stood, as before, at his post.“She will do it, Matson,” he said, speaking to his first lieutenant.“God grant she may,” answered the officer.On she flew. The sea dashed in masses of foam high above the dark rocks which formed the extremity of the reef. On, on, she stood. A few seconds almost would decide her fate. Many an eye glanced over the lee-bulwarks. The water washed up through the scuppers, and rose high on deck. The crew sheltered themselves as best they could under the weather-bulwarks, for the seas were breaking in masses of foam over the weather-bows, deluging the decks fore and aft. The commander gazed also anxiously at the reef. The corvette darted on. Already the foam which flew over her seemed to unite with that which broke above the rocks. Still, he did not turn pale, nor did his eye quiver. In another instant she would be hurled to destruction or be free. The crew watched the threatening reef, and many an old seaman felt that he had never been in greater danger.

As the commander of the corvette was about to descend the glen, his attention was arrested by the faint tramp of horses’ hoofs passing rapidly over the downs. He turned his head and at that instant saw a young lady on horseback, not far from him, cantering gaily along, while at a short distance behind her was another lady, followed by a groom. At that moment the figure of the mad woman, which had a short time before appeared to him, rose suddenly from behind the ground where he had last seen her. She uttered a wild shriek; the effect was to make the leading horse start and rear violently. The animal, apparently, was not well broken in. Again and again it reared, backing down towards the edge of the cliff. The young officer saw the lady’s danger, and in an instant sprang towards her. She uttered a shriek as she discovered how fearfully near the edge of the cliff her horse had carried her. The officer grasped her bridle, but in vain tried to draw back the frightened animal. It seemed resolved tothrow itself over the precipice. In another moment the lady and her steed would have been carried to destruction.

“Throw yourself from your saddle, and trust to me,” exclaimed the young officer imploringly.

She cast herself forward and fell into his arms. Alas! her habit caught in the stirrup. Again the horse reared.

“I will perish with her,” exclaimed the young man mentally. Happily, the skirt tore, and in another moment was disengaged; while the frightened animal, with one bound, leaped over the cliff. So extreme was the danger to which the young lady had been exposed, that scarcely knowing she had escaped it, she fainted. The young officer, with his precious burden, hurried up the downs, when her companion, jumping from her horse, came to his assistance.

“O Nora, Nora,” she exclaimed, “do tell me that you are alive! O that we had some water to give her, such a faint as this is dangerous. What can be done?”

The groom, observing that there was a stream a few hundred yards on, dashed forward on his horse, and quickly returned with his hat full.

Lady Sophy, loosening Nora’s dress round her neck, and holding her head on her knee, sprinkled the water over her face, which was turned in the direction of the wind. By this means she quickly returned to consciousness, and, opening her eyes, they fell on the countenance of the young officer.

“Oh, Captain Denham,” she exclaimed, “I owe my life to you. In another moment I should have been dashed to pieces. I thought that I had gone over the precipice. How grateful my dear father will be to you!”

“Then that must be your ship,” said Lady Sophy, pointing to the corvette. “You must come with us at once to the Castle.”

Captain Denham, of course, could only express his very great satisfaction at having been the means of preserving the life of Lady Nora, though he could claim no credit for having done so. Whatever had been his previous intentions, he could do nothing else than accompany the ladies till he had seen them safe at the Castle. He made anxious inquiries after the Earl, and found, from the account they gave him, that he was greatly broken in health, not having recovered from the effects of the West Indian climate, or the loss of his son. In many respects the meeting could not fail to be a sad one. The sight of Captain Denham recalled painfully to Lady Sophy the death of her intended husband, while Lady Nora, naturally, could not help thinking of her young brother, who had been Captain Denham’s friend.

The distance to the Castle was considerable, but Lady Nora declared her inability to mount a horse, even if one had been sent for; nor would she consent to take that of Lady Sophy. Supported, however, by the arm of the captain, she proceeded towards home. They had many things to talk about. Captain Denham had to describe how he had been sent to the coast of Ireland to render assistance to any of the loyal subjects of the king who might require it, whilst the ladies described their passage home, and the feelings with which they had returned once more to the old Castle.

“Things are greatly changed,” observed Lady Nora, “we have none of the gay society we used to have here; my father also is too much out of spirits to see company. Occasionally a few neighbours look in upon us; or when any ship comes into the bay we see some of the officers, and Mr Jamieson and dear Miss O’Reilly come over to pay us a visit; but you, Captain Denham, will always be welcome.”

Captain Denham and his fair companions had arrived at the Castle some time before the midshipmen with the boat appeared, having been joined in the meantime by the second lieutenant.

The Earl welcomed him warmly, and begged him to take up his residence at the Castle; but this invitation he was compelled to decline, as he made it a point of duty never to sleep away from the ship at night.

Lady Nora had sufficiently recovered to appear at dinner, to which Denham’s officers, who had come on shore, were also invited. Just before dinner Mr Jamieson and his blind niece arrived. Lady Nora was delighted to see them, and introduced Captain Denham to them both. The blind lady seemed to take especial interest in him. She plied him with questions, asking him what part of the world he had visited, in what ship he had served, and in what actions he had been engaged.

The Earl had broken through the usual custom of sitting late at dinner; indeed the gentlemen present seemed in no way disposed to follow it. Soon after the ladies had retired, Mr Jamieson and Captain Denham led the way to the drawing-room. Captain Denham approached Lady Nora and inquired anxiously if she felt perfectly recovered from the effects of her alarming accident. “Oh, yes; indeed I am,” she answered, glancing up at him with a look which might have made many men vain. “I dare not trust myself to thank you as I ought, or to speak about it. I cannot help thinking of what would have been my fate had you not been there to save me. How often have I crossed those downs without dreaming of danger; and indeed it was very curious how that poor mad woman should have startled my horse. I have met her often before, and she has done much the same sort of thing; but the poor animal was young, and had not been ridden for some days. Sophy and I were on our way to visit some of the poor people we are accustomed to call upon, and I was anxious to see an old widow who lives in a little cove under where you saw me; but that can be a matter of no interest to you.”

As she spoke she again gazed up in his face. Something strange seemed to flash across her mind. She cast another earnest, inquiring look at him. The colour mounted to his cheek. His eyes fell, then again he looked earnestly at her. Nora’s breath came and went rapidly; her bosom heaved.

“What is the matter with Nora?” exclaimed Lady Sophy, springing forward, “she is fainting. Help! help!”

In an instant Lady Sophy was by Nora’s side, and just in time to receive her as she fell fainting into her arms. Captain Denham stood for an instant so overwhelmed with some deep emotion, as scarcely to comprehend what had occurred.

The bell was rung, and several attendants rushed in, and Nora was borne fainting from the room.

It was still daylight, but just at this moment dark clouds began to collect in the sky, casting a gloom over the landscape. The lieutenant of the corvette had gone to the window looking out over the ocean. He hurriedly came back, and while his commander was standing still bewildered it seemed by what had occurred, he came up to him, and said—

“Sir, there is a change in the weather. The wind has increased considerably, and the bay in a short time will be no place for us.”

This address aroused Captain Denham.

“You are right, Matson,” he answered, looking out at the window for an instant, “I will go on board immediately. We must bid farewell to the Earl and be off. There is not a moment to lose, and I hope Evans will get the ship under weigh without waiting for me.”

Just as he was quitting the room Lady Sophy re-entered it, and assured him that Lady Nora had quickly recovered, though still unnerved by the danger she had gone through. “I trust that she will have perfectly recovered by to-morrow,” she added. “And, believe me, Captain Denham, you will always be a welcome guest at the Castle.”

She spoke earnestly, her looks giving expression to her words.

“She is a dear, high-minded girl, and, believe me, I prize her, and will watch over her as a sister, or I should say rather, as a daughter.”

“Thank you, thank you,” answered the young captain, pressing Lady Sophy’s hand; “you know my feelings for your cousin, but to no one else would I venture to acknowledge them. To her I feel that I have no right to speak of them. I leave myself, therefore, in your hands.”

“I trust to be so guided as to act for the best for you both,” said Lady Sophy, “but I must not longer detain you. I hope that we may see you here again before many days have passed.”

Well satisfied, as he had reason to be, with what Lady Sophy had said, Captain Denham followed his officers, who had already preceded him to the boats. He stepped in, and the order was given to shove off. The boats made the best of their way towards the corvette. The wind was already blowing strongly, and a heavy sea rolled into the bay.

“It is as much as we shall do, if we manage to beat out of the bay this evening,” observed the lieutenant to the midshipman in his boat, “I ought to have kept my eyes more about me, though it is natural enough the captain’s should have been preoccupied.”

“Yes, sir, indeed that is a lovely girl, Lady Nora; he will be a happy man who wins her.”

“That is a matter, Mr Merton, too delicate for me to pronounce on,” answered the lieutenant; “but I was speaking of the difficulty of beating out of the bay.”

“Oh yes, sir, I beg your pardon,” said the midshipman; “still I believe we shall be able to carry all sail, and if so, theAriadnewill soon find her way out of this difficulty.”

“That is an ugly reef to the north,” observed the lieutenant; “I would rather it were fifty miles away than where it is.”

“Yet it affords us good shelter when the wind is as it was this morning.”

“So it does,” answered the lieutenant, “but it is directly in our way when we have to beat out when the wind is in the west.”

The captain made no remark to the midshipman in his boat; he was too completely absorbed in his own thoughts, though he occasionally urged his crew to greater exertion by the usual exclamation of “Give way, lads, give way.”

The boats were soon alongside. Directly they were seen coming, the officer in command had begun to get the corvette under weigh, and when the captain stepped on board the anchor was hove up to the bows.

The corvette, under topsails and top-gallant-sails, was now hauled close to the wind. She cast to the north, and stood directly towards the reef of rocks which appeared ahead. The captain took his place in the weather rigging, to con her, while scarcely had sail been made on the ship before the increase of wind made it doubtful whether she would carry what was already set. The dark clouds came rolling up in thick masses from the west overhead, while heavy seas, topped with foaming crests, rolled in from the same direction. The corvette heeled over until her lee ports were in the water, still it was not a moment for shortening sail. Now the young commander gazed at the shore under his lee, now to the dark rocks ahead, and now at his masts and spars. “No higher,” he had more than once to cry out, as the men at the helm, anxious to gain every advantage, kept her too close to the wind. “We cannot hope to weather the reef on this tack,” he observed to the lieutenant, who was near him.

The crew were all at their stations, attentive to obey the least sign from their commander. Now a fiercer gust than ordinary made the ship heel lower in the water. Now she rose again. It was a critical moment as she rushed forward with headlong speed towards the threatening reef, over which the sea was already furiously beating. Still the young commander stood calm and collected. Now his hand was raised, and as he glanced towards the helmsman, now he looked once more to the sails aloft. “Hands about ship,” he shouted in a clear, ringing voice, which every man heard fore and aft. “Helm’s-alee! Tacks and sheets! Main sail haul!” It seemed as if in another moment the beautiful vessel would spring forward upon the threatening rocks. She was in stays, but the slightest shift of wind to the south would have driven her to destruction. Anxiously the commander looked at the fore-topsail still aback. For an instant the ship’s head appeared not to be moving. Then gradually the wind forced her round. “Of all haul!” he shouted in a cheerful voice, as she sprang forward towards the opposite side of the bay. Still she was not free. The headway she made was counteracted by the heavy seas which now rolled in upon the land, and forced her towards it. Now she was standing towards Kilfinnan Castle. The commander turning, looked at the reef they had left; then once more casting his gaze ahead,—“We shall scarcely weather it the next tack,” he said to himself. “If the wind holds as it does now, however, and if it does not increase much, the tight little ship will still work her way through it.”

Anxiously those in the Castle watched the progress of the corvette. They well knew the danger to which she was exposed, for although many a year had passed since any large ship had been cast away in their bay, yet there were traditions of men-of-war being driven on the coast, and the whole of their gallant crews perishing. Numerous merchant vessels and smaller craft had also from time to time been dashed to pieces on the rocks, and many sad tales there were of lives being lost, when the persons on board the vessels appeared within but a short distance of the shore.

Nora had sufficiently recovered to go to the window and gaze forth upon the vessel.

“O, what a beautiful fabric she is,” she exclaimed; “how rapidly she draws near!” With the glass she could almost see those on board. “But will she, do you think, escape that reef to the north, when she once more tacks.”

“Oh, yes, I trust so,” answered Lady Sophy, “he who commands on board is an experienced seaman, you know, and if any human being could carry the ship out of the bay, he will do so.”

Besides the young ladies, several other persons on shore were watching the progress of the corvette, as she endeavoured to beat out of the bay. Far down below, in the sheltered cove, in front of her cottage, stood Widow O’Neil. Her white locks, escaping from the band which generally bound them, streamed in the wind. The hood of her red cloak was thrown back, and while with one hand she steadied herself by one of the supports of the deep eaves of the cottage, she stretched forth the other towards the ocean, as if she would direct the course of the bark which struggled through the foaming waves.

“They are brave men on board that craft,” she exclaimed to herself, “but oh, it is hard work they will have, to get clear of the bay. Proud and trim as that beautiful ship looked this morning, who can say but what before another sun rises, she will be a shattered wreck upon yonder cruel rocks. Such a sight I have seen night after night as I lay on my couch, I know not whether asleep or awake; but, oh, may Heaven protect those on board from such a fate, if their vessel, stout as she may be, is thrown upon yonder reef.

“My boy, my boy! Even now he may be on the stormy ocean, threatened with shipwreck, as are those in yonder beautiful vessel. May Heaven protect him and them!”

As she spoke, the fishwife stretched forth her neck more eagerly over the ocean, and again and again she offered up a prayer for the safety of those on board the ship which struggled below her. High up the glen, in a sheltered place, yet still commanding a view of the bay, sat another person. It was Father O’Rourke. He, too, was watching the ship, with a very different feeling animating his heart, to that which worked in the bosom of the widow. No prayer for the safety of those on board escaped his lips. He seemed to gaze with satisfaction on the fearful danger to which she was exposed. He more than once exclaimed to himself, “She cannot escape yonder rocks, and then that pert and daring youth who set me at defiance, with all his companions, will meet the fate which they and their Saxon countrymen so well merit. Curses on the heads of those who execute the behests of King George and his ministers. While we have red-coats and blue-jackets arrayed against us, what hope is there of liberty for old Ireland? I hate them all. From the king on his throne to the meanest soldier who trails a pike in his service!”

At a short distance on a high and projecting part of the cliff, stood a wild and fantastic figure. It was that of mad Kathleen. She waved her arms round and round. Now she shouted, as if she would warn those on board the ship of the danger they were approaching. Again and again she cried out, as if encouraging them to perseverance in their bold attempt at beating out of the bay. Sometimes she uttered blessings on their heads, especially that of their young commander.

“A brave youth, a noble youth he is,” she exclaimed; “even when I set eyes on him this morning I felt my heart drawn towards him. Grievous would it be for him to lose that fine ship, his first command, and still more grievous were his life to be taken by the angry waves!”

Thus she continued for some time, until she was interrupted by a hand being placed on her shoulder. She turned round and saw Miss O’Reilly standing near her.

“What, Kathleen, are you trying to show yonder ship the way to beat out of our bay?” asked Mr Jamieson, in his usual kind voice.

“I would I were on board, minister, that I might help to guide them,” she answered, with a laugh. “There are many worse pilots than I am, and often in girlhood’s days have I sailed with my father on yonder sea, sometimes, as now, tossed with waves, at other times calm and blue, like a young maiden’s eye, void of guile and treachery.”

“But, tell me, Kathleen, do you think the ship will manage to escape from the dangers by which she is surrounded?” asked Miss O’Reilly, in a somewhat agitated voice. “They say her captain is a brave and gallant officer, and it would be grievous if he were to lose that beautiful vessel, for so I am told she is.”

“God who guides the winds and gives them power alone knows whether yonder ship will gain the open sea in safety,” answered Kathleen; “but I will tell you, dear lady, if you stay by me, what progress she makes. If the prayer of a poor mad creature can save her, she is safe enough, and the wind will hold as it does now, sufficiently to the south to enable her to clear the reef. Oh, Miss O’Reilly, even now she seems rushing forward to destruction.”

“Whereabouts is she?” asked Miss O’Reilly eagerly.

“Not two hundred fathoms, it seems at this moment, from the reef,” answered Kathleen. “If she can come about without difficulty, she will escape, but if not, in a few minutes she will be cast on the rocks, and then you know too well what will happen.”

“Tell me, good Kathleen, tell me,” said the blind lady, after a short silence; “has she gone about? is there once more a prospect of her escaping?”

“Again she is in stays!” exclaimed Kathleen. “See, see! the wind seems to have caught her. Oh, may merciful Providence watch over her! It seems to me that her head is once more turning towards the dreadful rocks. Alas, alas! no power can save her.”

“Oh, may Heaven protect them!” exclaimed the blind lady, turning her sightless eyes in the direction of the ship. “Oh, may those brave men on board escape the fearful danger in which they are placed!”

“Your prayers are heard, lady! your prayers are heard!” shouted Kathleen; “the wind has taken her head-sails, and once more she is on the starboard tack, standing away from that fearful reef.”

Mr Jamieson and his niece stood for some time watching the progress of the corvette, till the shades of evening, increased by the thick clouds which obscured the sky, hid her from their sight; but they could not persuade Kathleen to leave the spot, for she declared that she could still see the ship through the mist. At length, the minister and his niece returned to their home, leaving poor Kathleen still wildly waving her arms and shouting, until her voice was hoarse, as if she would address those on board the vessel.

“See, see! she is once more about! Surely her bowsprit is pointing more seaward than it was before, and if the wind was to shift a little more to the south, she would soon be clear of yonder fearful reef.”

The corvette once more going about, stood to the north. Although the wind might have drawn a little more to the south, yet this advantage was counteracted by the fierceness with which it blew. The masts, with more sail on them than it would have, under other circumstances, been deemed prudent to set, bent with the unusual pressure. Sometimes, indeed, as Captain Denham gazed up at them, they seemed like fishing-rods, so fearfully did they bend before the breeze. The first lieutenant and master were also looking up at them with not less anxiety than did the captain. “They will scarcely stand this pressure,” observed the former; “what say you, master?”

“We must keep the canvas set, at all events, and trust to Providence,” answered the master. “This is no moment for taking in a reef. If they go and the ship refuses to stay, we must bring up, though I fear the little vessel will scarcely hold her own against the heavy seas which come rolling into this bay; and, to my idea, both she, and some of us on board, will leave our bones to rot on the strand under our lee, if it comes to that.”

“Let’s hope for the best, master,” answered the first lieutenant. “See how calm our captain looks. You would never suppose that he is aware of the danger in which we are placed.”

“He knows it pretty clearly, though,” observed the master. “Hold on, good sticks, hold on,” he exclaimed, looking up at the masts. “They are tough spars, I know, and they are now giving good proof of their quality.”

Sometimes, from the direction of the vessel’s head, it appeared possible that she might weather the reef towards which she was approaching. Then, again, she fell off, and it was evident that she must make another tack before there was a chance of her doing so. The commander seemed of this opinion, and was clearly unwilling to approach again as near as before to the reef. Again he shouted, “Hands about ship!” As before, the helm was put down, the tacks and sheets were raised, the men hauled with a will at the braces, and the ship’s head, coming up to the wind, continued for some moments pointing west, to the open part of the bay. Anxiously the commander watched her movements. At one time it seemed as if she had got stern way, and he opened his mouth about to give the order to let go the anchor and to shorten sail. Those on board knew the order would have been followed by another, dreaded by all seamen—to cut away the masts, the only mode of proceeding to enable the corvette to ride out the gale. Again and again the captain looked up at the head-sails. “She is paying off!” he exclaimed. A shout, though immediately suppressed, burst from the throats of the crew. For the moment they were safe from the threatened danger. Again the corvette stood across the bay. The topmasts, as before, bent to the gale.

“We shall easily clear that reef,” observed the master. “Well, it is a pleasure to see a man con a ship as our fine young skipper does. These are moments to try a man’s mettle, and he has shown that he is of the true sort.”

The corvette flew across the bay, almost, it seemed, with lightning speed, so soon was she again on the opposite side. Another critical moment had arrived, and it was only to be hoped that the gale would not come down with greater force than before while she was in stays, or very likely at that moment her topmasts would be carried away. Again about she came; this time without difficulty, and now her head pointing seaward, she stood out from the bay, still as those on shore watched her through the fast gathering gloom of evening, she seemed to be drawing nearer and nearer to the reef. Now once more she looked up to the west, then again to the north; still the masts and spars stood. Yet, after all, she was nearer the reef than under such circumstances a seaman would wish to find his ship.

“Mr Matson,” said the commander, looking down at his first lieutenant, “we must at once take two reefs in the topsails; but it is a risk for the hands aloft, a fearful risk indeed,” he added.

“I am ready to lead the way, sir,” exclaimed a young seaman, who was no other than Ned Davis, the commander’s old companion.

“Give the orders then, Matson,” said the captain.

“Aloft, there,” shouted the first lieutenant. Scarcely, however, had the men sprang into the rigging, when there was a loud crash. The main-topmast had gone close to the cap. The straggling sail and wreck of the spars hanging over the side.

“Clear away the wreck,” cried the captain. “Not a moment to be lost. We must save the other masts.”

The men flew aloft, Ned Davis being among the first drawing out their knives from their pockets as they did so. In a few seconds the ropes were severed, and the mast and spar fell overboard, with the still loudly flapping sail. At the same moment the crew throwing themselves out on the fore-topsail yard, that sail was quickly reefed. “You must take another reef in it, Mr Matson,” said the commander, “closely reef it, or that mast will go also.” The mizen-topsail with greater ease was closely reefed. In consequence of the ship having been deprived even for that short time of the power which urged her through the seas, she had drifted down, it seemed, close upon the reef. Once more the captain looked anxiously to leeward.

“We shall still weather the reef,” he exclaimed to the first lieutenant, who, after gazing at it, looked in his face as if to ask a question, “Unless,” the commander added, “the wind draws more out of the west.”

Heeling over, however, less than she had before done to the blast, her head pointed seaward, clear of the reef, still, should she be making much leeway, it would be doubtful whether, after all, she would clear it. To tack close to it, crippled as she was, would be dangerous in the extreme. The commander stood, as before, at his post.

“She will do it, Matson,” he said, speaking to his first lieutenant.

“God grant she may,” answered the officer.

On she flew. The sea dashed in masses of foam high above the dark rocks which formed the extremity of the reef. On, on, she stood. A few seconds almost would decide her fate. Many an eye glanced over the lee-bulwarks. The water washed up through the scuppers, and rose high on deck. The crew sheltered themselves as best they could under the weather-bulwarks, for the seas were breaking in masses of foam over the weather-bows, deluging the decks fore and aft. The commander gazed also anxiously at the reef. The corvette darted on. Already the foam which flew over her seemed to unite with that which broke above the rocks. Still, he did not turn pale, nor did his eye quiver. In another instant she would be hurled to destruction or be free. The crew watched the threatening reef, and many an old seaman felt that he had never been in greater danger.

Back to IndexNext