Chapter II: Part 2

The Fisherman’s Family (for such was the name of the smack) rode buoyant on the waves; she rose and fell with the heave and set of the sea, like the swift-winged swallow when it stems the tempest; and the small bark scarcely felt the roughness of the billows, where larger vessels would have laboured fearfully with their heavy burdens.

It was about ten o’clock, when the crew of the smack thought that amidst the roaring of the storm they could distinguish the reports of signal-guns at a distance, and every ear was anxiously inclined to discover the quarter whence the sounds proceeded. At length they became more distinct, and it was soon ascertained that the vessel must be nearing them. The fog was still thick and gloomy, yet occasionally there were intervals of partial clearness; and it was during one of these breaks that a ship was descried drifting at the mercy of the wind and waves, for it was evident, from the wild course she was pursuing, that all management was lost. Her foremast, bowsprit, and main top-mast were gone; and having nothing aloft to steady her, the billows beat against her sides and dashed raging over her. The smack showed a light, which was immediately answered, and two guns fired to acknowledge the near approach of succour.

“That ship has lost her rudder as well as her masts,” exclaimed the old man; “she has struck somewhere; and now my lads, to render them assistance!”

“Oh, if we should get her safe into Mount’s Bay, grandfather,” said James, “and a good salvage[5] awarded, what would mother say to us then? I should not mind the loss of the nets.”

“Let us save their lives,” said Ned, “at all events; and if we can save the ship too, so much the better.”

In the course of another hour the smack was hailing the ship, and found that her rudder had been knocked away upon the rocks at the same time that the masts and bowsprit had fallen with the shock. She had also sprung a leak under the bows, and the pumps could barely keep her free. As, however, no immediate danger was apprehended, the smack kept near the shattered vessel until daylight, when the father of the youth contrived to get on board, by running close alongside and catching a rope with a noose at the end, which he passed securely round his body and was hauled through the water by the ship’s crew. The smack then dropped astern with a stout rope, and by her judicious movements acted as a rudder to the large vessel, which was got before the wind for the Bristol Channel; but the towrope parted soon after, and the gale increased to a downright hurricane.

Upon an eminence on the coast between Penzance and the Land’s End stood a substantial dwelling, which though designated a cottage, presented every token of homely comfort. A quantity of fishing materials, hung out to dry, showed it to be tenanted by those hardy sons of the ocean, who brave the greatest dangers to procure fish for the markets; whilst the air of neatness and enjoyment also proved it to belong to one of that class of men, who risk their existence to save the lives and property of others--the undaunted pilot. A winding and declivious path led to the shelving rocks below, which formed a small inlet or bay for vessels of a light draught, that had received the name of the Smuggler’s Gap, from its having been frequently used by those daring outlaws in their illegal trade.

On the same evening that has been already mentioned, an anxious mother quitted the cradle in the cottage to look out towards the sea for those whom, next to heaven, she loved best. Her foreboding eye had witnessed the same prognostics of the gale, and with a heavy heart she resumed the mother’s watch over her sleeping infant. A fair and beautiful female, about fifteen years of age, was attending to the duties of the house; a boy of ten years sat by his mother’s side gazing on her care-marked countenance; whilst a girl of three years was sharing her supper with a rough but favourite dog on the hearth before the fire.

“I must feed poor Dorey, mother,” said the little one, “for James told me to be kind to him. Poor Dorey!” continued she, patting his head, “I wish James was here.”

“You should remember, Mary,” replied the mother, “there are also your father and your grandfather.”

“And Edward,” added the boy; “I miss him very much; for he used to help me up the rocks, and I am afraid to scramble along alone.”

“All are equally dear to us, William,” rejoined the mother, “and all are equally under the care of Providence. Yes; I trust the Fisherman’s Family is safe.”

“Who gave her that name, mother?” inquired William; “you promised to tell me.”

“I did, my child; and as my heart is heavy, I will now relate to you how it happened. Your grandfather in his younger life was brought up to expect a genteel competency, for his father was a wealthy ship-owner at Liverpool. He was sent to sea early, whilst his brother remained at home to manage the business. But that brother was cruel and treacherous; he weaned his father’s affections from the poor sailor, and got a will made entirely in his own favour. Your grandfather, not suspecting the wickedness of his brother, was frequently absent on long voyages; and when only in his twentieth year, he married a poor girl, who had no other recommendation than her beauty of person and integrity of heart. He married too without the sanction of his father, who from that hour forbade him his presence and never saw him more--for the angry parent died a few months afterwards. On arranging his father’s affairs, your grandfather found himself disinherited; and his brother, who had dissipated a great portion of the property previous to the old man’s dissolution, gathered the residue together and embarked for the East Indies. But your grandfather was not wholly destitute; he had saved something handsome to begin life with, and purchased a share of a ship, of which he obtained the command. Still adversity pressed upon him: his ship was captured by the enemy, and he returned (for they did not detain the prisoners then) to England almost pennyless. My mother had relations at St. Ives, and thither the poor sailor and his wife repaired. They were received with welcome; and he, unwilling to leave my dear mother for any length of time, commenced his career as a fisherman and a pilot. Success crowned his labours; and he not only obtained a handsome maintenance, but was enabled to purchase a vessel of his own. In this house I was born, and when I grew up, was married to your father and had a family. The old vessel was broken up and a new one built, which was called by the name it now bears. Oh, how many anxious hours does your father pass for the Fisherman’s Family ashore, and how many days of earnest solicitude do I endure for the Fisherman’s Family at sea! But go, my children, the storm is coming on. Go to your beds; but first kneel to the Creator and humbly implore his guardian care for the poor mariners.”

Heavily passed the night with the apprehensive mother; often did she approach the dizzy edge of the steep cliff, but no other sounds were heard except the continued howling of the tempest and the roaring of the breakers. Fervently were her petitions offered up before the throne of Omnipotence; and amidst the appalling demonstrations of almighty power did the creature of his will plead with her Creator. His voice was heard upon the storm, proclaiming dominion and majesty; but her’s mingled with it, as in prostration of heart she earnestly supplicated mercy.

Morning appeared, but the desired vessel could not be distinguished. The sea presented one wide sheet of foam, with here and there a dark object driven like the ocean weed upon the waters. At the close of the day, a dismasted ship with a smack in company was seen through the dim haze, drifting towards the shore. They were yet several miles distant; but hope for the ship there was none, unless the gale abated. The intuitive eye of the mother readily recognised the little bark that held, as she supposed, her father, her husband, and her two sons; and all the several relative bonds were linked more closely round her heart. Their occupation was manifest,--they were waiting to assist fellow creatures in distress; and the abundant prayer for the safety of all spontaneously ascended from her lips.

Night veiled them from observation; but the bold seamen of the neighbourhood, headed by the reverend pastor of the village as a magistrate, remained in readiness to act as circumstances required. Apprehension sat on many a furrowed countenance, and dark anticipations filled many a feeling breast. But language would fail to describe the agony which suspense and fearful agitation wrought in the mother’s heart.

At length, about midnight, the report of a heavy gun echoed among the rocks, and told that the devoted ship was near at hand; the flash had pointed out her position, but nothing could yet be seen. The pastor with his resolute band of determined boatmen hastened to the shore; report followed report; fires were lighted on the rocks to show that land was near, but still no object could be discerned.

The storm came more heavily, and vivid lightnings rent the frowning clouds; then when the glaring flash threw its stream of awful splendour on the feathery foam, that fated ship was seen struggling with the waves. As a last resource she had let go her anchors; and there she lay, like the soul of the mighty, wrestling with despair. Another gun--and yet another--but help was hopeless, From the shore no assistance could be given; every attempt to get through the raging surf was useless; and the brave boatmen were compelled--an unusual circumstance--to be sad spectators of the scene.

The ship rode heavily as the long rolling waves came foaming in. Suddenly a shriek was heard upon the shore--a wild cry: the vessel had parted her cables, and the streaming lightning showed her careering towards the rocks with resistless force. Onward she came (as was now plainly visible) through the hissing foam. Still onward, onward she urged her desperate course, till a tremendous crash--a loud yell--proclaimed that her stout timbers were shattered, and many a stouter heart was buried in the waves.

The ship had struck on that part of the shore where the rocks were steepest; and the wreck remained wedged in firmly between two craggy knolls not more than one hundred fathoms from perfect safety. But even that was a fearful space; for the heavy breakers rolled over the sunken rocks and dashed with wild fury. Body after body came on the surge, and were thrown upon the land: but life had fled, and no effort could restore animation to the mangled and disfigured corpse.

The inhabitants of the adjacent village, young and old, were crowded on the strand; and amidst the group was the venerable rector. Often, when the vivid flash illuminated the foaming billows and showed the deck of the rending vessel, he rushed with his horse towards the spot; but the barrier was impassable, and the bitter shriek rang upon his tortured ears. “Oh, that I could die for them!” he exclaimed. “Father of mercies, stretch forth thine hand and save!” Willingly would he have given his life for theirs; for he was prepared to meet his God, whilst they would be hurried into the presence of their Maker without a moment for repentance.

Morning began to dawn, and dawned in horror; but with its earliest beam the smack was seen about a mile from the shore under snug sail and apparently in safety. The anxious mother was with the villagers, but the children remained at the house upon the cliff. Sleepless had been their night; and at the break of day the terrified Jane, with William and the little Mary, stood upon the shelving rock above the yawning gulf which had already entombed many of their fellow creatures. They could see the Fisherman’s Family, as the light became more clear; and it was evidently the intention of those on board to run for the Smuggler’s Gap,--a small red flag having been hoisted at the mast-head to require the boatmen on shore to hold themselves in readiness to give assistance.

At this moment, whilst the children were standing gazing at the vessel, the heavens seemed to be rent asunder, and the red blaze of the forked lightning darted forth; it struck the smack, and masts and sails came tumbling down in one general wreck. “My father! my father!” skrieked the horror-stricken Jane, recoiling backward and grasping her brother round the neck, as if she feared that he too would be torn away. The little Mary clung on the other side, and even the poor dog looked with instinctive dread towards the ocean.

But though the smack was dismasted, her hull still continued to float, and every wave drove her nearer to the shore. Oh, what an agonizing sight was that to the fond mother and her children! The former ran hurriedly among the boatmen, exhorting and imploring them to use their best exertions to snatch her relatives from death. Her spirits seemed to rise in proportion as their peril increased; and she laboured to forward the preparations which were making as a last effort to rescue the little crew.

The ship still continued grinding between the rocks, and victim after victim was hurried into eternity. From portions of the wreck which had drifted on shore, it was conjectured that she was a free trader from Calcutta; and the number of hands and passengers were calculated at seventy. The boatmen had made repeated efforts to get a rope from her, but all their attempts had failed. At length, part of a mast with five individuals clinging to it was seen to be rent away from the body of the wreck, and lifted by a mountain surge clear over the craggy rocks. Another wave came rolling in; but just before it reached them, it raised its awful crest, and with a tremendous roar, like the famished panther when seizing his prey, dashed furiously upon their heads. They were seen for a few moments hurled confusedly amongst the bubbling eddies, and then disappeared. Once more the shattered mast floated, but there were now only three, who clung to it with desperate energy as they neared the shore and hopes of life revived. The next wave was still more raging than the last, but its fury was spent before it reached the swimmers; and “they’re safe! they’re safe!” was shouted from the shore. The boatmen plied their oars with redoubled strength, and in a few minutes the three men were hauled into the boat, which immediately made for the safest landing-place.

The villagers hurried to the spot, and the anxious mother, hoping to hear tidings of her family, stood foremost amongst them as the boat ran upon the strand. But who can paint her joy and her terror, her delight and her agony, when she saw that one of the individuals saved was her husband! They were soon clasped in each other’s arms; but the bitter recollection that lives infinitely precious to them were still in jeopardy with scarcely a hope of rescue, roused them to exertion. Richard turned to the boat and assisted an elderly man to land. The moment the latter touched the ground, he fell upon his knees and offered up a thanksgiving to the Creator; he then clung round the neck of Richard, and blessed him as the instrument of his preservation. “I should have sunk,” said he, “but you supported me; you snatched me from death and--but I have power to show my gratitude.”

The other man saved was a seaman, who reported the ship to be the “Isabella,” from the East Indies. How many had perished he could not tell; but there were yet more than one half of the crew, and nearly the whole of the passengers on board. By the aid of their glasses, the boatmen could discern the hapless creatures as they watched the success of those who had been saved, and several launched themselves upon the fickle element lashed to broken pieces of the wreck. The boats were again on the alert, and the boatmen had the satisfaction of picking up all that the billows allowed to come within their reach.

But now the principal attention of the men on shore was devoted to the smack, as she neared the craggy barriers for security. The old man with his two grandsons and two men, who formed the crew, had been actively engaged in getting up a boat’s mast, on which they hoisted a small sail so as to give the vessel steerage way; and it seemed to answer the required purpose, for the little bark with impetuous haste rushed onward to the Smuggler’s Gap, as if bidding defiance to suspense.

Pale anxiety sat on every countenance. “Is there any hope?” inquired the rector, addressing a gray-headed veteran, who from infancy had been inured to the tempest, and had the character of a bold intrepid sailor. Report made him the associate of a gang of smugglers; but humane as he was brave, many a shipwrecked seaman was indebted to Donald Ferguson for his life. “Is there no hope?” inquired the rector. A look of melancholy anxiety was the only answer. The rector repeated his question.

“Sailors never despair, sir,” replied Donald, “and if they once get well in the--but stop: I have no right to disclose to any one, much more to you.”

“Yet,” rejoined the rector, “when yon gallant ship has been lost, can so small a vessel be saved?”

“Have hopes, sir,” replied Donald; and then turning away, “Ned,” he exclaimed to a rough, hardy-looking fellow, well drenched with the surf, who immediately approached him. They whispered together for a few minutes, and then Ned ran from place to place selecting the strongest and most daring of the boatmen for some particular purpose.

“Ned,” exclaimed Donald again, “overhaul the hawser down, ship the capstan bars, and be all ready. Remember, it is life or death, my hearty! I myself will hook her on.”

“No, no,” said Richard, “that shall be my doing; you are old, Donald.”

“But not feeble,” replied the veteran; “your anxiety would betray you; besides, you have a wife and other children, but if old Donald goes, nobody will miss him. Do as you are bid, my boy; and now for the marks!” He waved his hat, and two conspicuous objects were instantly raised at different distances on the rocks, to act as a guide to those in the smack where to make their passage.

Who can describe the feelings of the spectators, as they looked on with doubtful apprehension and silent astonishment! The smack was now so close to the shore, that every one was visible. No bustle nor confusion prevailed: all seemed ready with cool intrepidity to attend to their several duties. The old man stood stationed at the helm, and with steady gaze kept his eyes fixed upon the beacons. Now she was lifted up to heaven, and borne with amazing rapidity through the outer breakers; again she sunk and disappeared beneath the hollow seas.

“She’s gone! she’s gone!” exclaimed the rector; but in an instant the vessel again mounted on the topmost wave, and rushed with surprising swiftness through the foaming surge. At this moment a dreadful broken sea came, raging with all its fury; it burst upon the deck, and seemed to bury the little craft in the dark abyss. Breathless, agonizing fear filled every heart, and groans and shrieks mingled with the gale. But again the smack rose, though the helm was now deserted, and the vessel seemed abandoned to her fate. Once more, however, was hope revived; for young Edward with cool determination ran to the tiller, and directed her headlong course.

The vessel had reached the secret channel known only to the illicit trader; she neared the beach; the sea again struck her, and she was carried by its force through the inner breakers. A wild shout of joy arose from the shore as the smack gained the smooth water, agitated only by the receding swell; but at this instant, she struck the ground heavily and rent in twain, the retiring surge carrying back the shattered fragments towards the rocks. And now the hardy race of brave boatmen, reckless of danger, plunged headlong in the waves. Old Donald took the lead; he grasped the arm of the lad James and turned towards the shore; the surf threw them up with violence and would again have returned them to the sea, but Donald seized the rope which had been overhauled down and kept his firm grasp; in a few seconds more they were safe on land. Richard succeeded in saving his father-in-law, aided by the boy Ned, who swam like a fish and seemed to triumph in the element. Not a soul was lost of that little crew; and relatives and friends flocked round, rejoicing in their deliverance.

The grandfather, with Richard, his wife, and the whole of the fisherman’s family, accompanied by the stranger who had been saved from the ship, hastened to the cottage on the cliff. They entered the abode with congratulations, and the stranger was ushered into the best apartment. He sat down, blessing his deliverer and forming schemes in his own mind to testify his gratitude. Suddenly his eyes were rivetted on a picture that hung suspended over the mantel-piece; it was a portrait of the unkind father who had disinherited his son, through the false representation of a still more cruel brother; but it had been preserved by the old man as the last relic of his family. The stranger gazed upon it with earnestness, and he then eagerly turned to the aged fisherman:--their eyes met, and again both looked at the picture. The stranger covered his face with his hands and groaned bitterly.

“I do not value the loss of the vessel,” said Richard, “so that we have all met together again. But come, father,” he continued, “let us kneel and offer up our grateful praises to the throne of grace.”

“Stop, stop!” cried the stranger convulsively: “my presence would be a clog upon your prayers. I too had a father--that picture was his,” he continued, falling on his knees before the venerable old man, “and you must be--you are my noble-minded, my much-injured brother.”

Oh, what a meeting was this! Animosity had long since subsided, and the word “brother” revived all the attachment of their boyish days.

What need of saying more? they knelt together; and whilst without the storm raged, within the cottage

“The peace of God, beyond expression sweet,
Filled every being humbled at his feet.”

They rose, and the stranger--stranger now no longer--was received into the circle with delight. A man entered the room, announcing that several of the seamen who had been saved from the wreck were waiting outside the house, to know if they might take shelter in some outbuildings. The kind-hearted mother would not permit this, but succoured them under the same roof with her children, and gave them plentiful refreshment. The stranger went amongst them, and they instantly rose from their repast with the utmost respect. From them he learned that the whole of the remaining portion of the crew and passengers had quitted the ship. About thirty had perished; but the rest, nearly forty in number, were safe on land. Another man now entered, and addressed the stranger as Sir William Russell. Yes! he was great, he was wealthy; and from that hour his influence and his wealth were devoted to the promotion of the happiness and welfare of the FISHERMAN’S FAMILY.

FOOTNOTES

[3] The Seven Stones are dangerous rocks lying between the Scilly Isles and the Land’s End.

[4] A small bird, like a swallow, that is scarcely ever seen except previously to or during a gale of wind. It is viewed with a superstitious feeling by seamen, who call it “Mother Carey’s Chicken.”

[5] Salvage is a sum of money allowed to individuals who are instrumental in saving a ship from being wrecked.

THE RED FLAG AT THE FORE.

“Come, sit thee down by me, love; come, sit thee down by me,
And I will tell thee many a tale of the dangers of the sea,--
Of the perils of the deep, love; when the stormy tempests roar,
And the raging billows wildly dash upon the groaning shore.

The skies are flaming red, love, the skies are flaming red,
And darkly rolls the mountain wave, and curls its monstrous head;
Whilst clouds and ocean blending, and loud howls the bitter blast,
And the daring tar, ’twixt life and death, clings to the shattered mast.”

Never shall I forget my emotions on first ascending the side of the ship, in which I commenced my career as a sailor. It was just about the time when Nelson and the Nile was the universal theme of conversation; our theatres echoed to the shouts of “Rule Britannia,” and the senate-house rang with plaudits for the achievements of naval valour. But ah! how few who rejoiced in the triumphs of victory, gave one thought to the hardships, privations, and oppressions under which the gallant seaman laboured. Boy-like, I thought it was a jovial life; and when standing on the deck, with the British ensign floating at the peak, and the bull-dogs (cannon) peeping from their port-holes, I felt, “ay, every inch a hero.” Besides, there was my handsome uniform, with bright gilt buttons bearing the impress of the anchor, and my dirk, just long enough to spit a partridge, swinging like a cook’s skewer by my side, and a leathern belt with two fierce lions’ heads in front, and that summit of a school-boy’s ambition, the cocked hat and gold rosettes. What child of twelve years could resist the temptation! So I e’en kissed my poor mother, who used to compare the rattling of the rain, as it ran down the spout into the water-butt, to the roaring of the waves, and for whom gilded buttons and cocked-up hats had no charms,--shook my father by the hand, as he gave me the bill for my outfit, to make me (by calculating the expense) more careful of my clothes,--threw my arms round the neck of my weeping sister, who slyly thrust something into my waistcoat pocket, which I afterwards found was all her own private little store of cash,--and away I started with glory in my eye, to leave “home, sweet home” far, far behind me.

The ship which I was going to join, was a fine dashing frigate, commanded by a friend of my father’s friend, to whom I received the most handsome recommendations. I say friend of my father’s friend, for such he was represented to me; but the fact is, my worthy dad was a freeman of no contemptible borough, besides holding a considerable influence over a certain number of _independent_ voters, and one of the candidates, whilst canvassing for the general election, had declared that “I was cut out for a sailor,”--that “he had interest at the Admiralty,” and made no doubt that by diligence and attention I should soon carry the “red flag at the fore.” I thought so too; but what the “red flag at the fore” meant, I was just as ignorant as I was of cuckoo-clock making. Nevertheless, it sounded well, the candidate became an M. P., and I was sent on board a stranger amongst strangers, and about as much patronised as a widow’s pig upon a village green.

I had never seen a ship,--I had never seen the sea; and when the wide ocean burst upon my view, rolling its mighty billows in majectic grandeur, I began to think that they were not the most pleasant things in life to play with, particularly for such a little fellow as myself; but, when the stupendous bulwarks of Britain appeared, as they lay at anchor in the bay, with their shining sides reflected on the waves and their bright ensigns flashing in the sun, fear gave way to admiration, and I began to sing--

“I’m a jolly roving tar,
Fearing neither wound nor scar,
And many a tightish breeze then have I seen.”

But, bless your heart! I had seen nothing then; nevertheless, I thought of the “red flag at the fore,” and as the boat lightly skimmed the surface of the dark blue waters, a feeling of honest pride swelled in my little breast;--henceforth I was to be devoted to my king and country.

The first-lieutenant received me very graciously. The wonders which every where presented themselves almost overwhelmed me with astonishment and delight. But, alas! this was not of long duration; for a youngster about my own age accompanied me to the cockpit, where I was to take up my abode. The dark cavern which formed the mess-berth, where a ray of daylight never entered, seemed rather horrible to my imagination, and the motley group of all ages from ten to twenty-five that filled it, did not inspire me with much confidence.

At the door stood a stout negro, scarcely visible except by his white teeth and his rolling eyes, which strongly reminded me of Robinson Crusoe’s monster in the cave, and a little sprig of a midshipman was venting imprecations on him for not having the dinner ready. Surrounding a table inside the berth, which was illumined by two _dwarf_ candles, that appeared as if they had never reached their proper growth, sat eight or ten small officers, employed in various ways. One was playing a difficult piece of music on the flute, with the notes placed before him, propped up by a quart bottle; a companion, to annoy and ridicule him, had put his pocket comb between two pieces of paper, and applying it to his mouth, produced a sound more execrable than the bagpipes, yet still endeavouring to imitate the tune. Two youths in the farthest corner had quarrelled, and were settling their disputes in a boxing-match. Another seemed totally abstracted from the scene, and leaning his elbows on the table, was contemplating the miniature of a fair-haired girl, whose mild blue eyes beamed with love and constancy. On the opposite side of the table two youngsters, with a treatise on seamanship before them, were arguing in no very gentle terms on their own proficiency in naval tactics. At the head of the table an old master’s-mate was exercising his authority in preserving peace; but as he was engaged at the same time in mixing a good _stiff_ glass of grog, his orders were either disregarded or laughed at. But there was one pale-faced lad, with a countenance full of intellectual expression, whom I shall never forget. He sat by himself, with a small writing desk before him, and on it lay a letter, the writer of which, not satisfied with filling up each page with black ink, had crossed the lines with red, and this letter he was endeavouring to answer. The noise had disturbed him, for sheet after sheet had been torn up, and lay in a pile by his side. He looked at the combatants, and a gentle murmur escaped him; he turned to the musicians, and a smile lighted up his features; he cast his eyes towards the youth whose thoughts were with the pole-star of his affections, and a shade of melancholy sat upon his brow. At this moment he caught sight of me, as I stood at the door, undetermined whether to advance or recede, and his hand was instantly extended. He closed his desk, remarking that “his sister must wait another day,” and--but why need I recount every particular?--from that hour we were friends.

Ay, how often when the pale moon at midnight has thrown her silver beams upon the bosom of the wave, or when the star-gemmed canopy of heaven has glistened with its myriads of glories, have we two stood together holding sweet converse on the past, and picturing bright scenes of future fame. Yes! hand in hand, we have stood like brothers talking of those sweet spots, endeared by every tie of fond regard, where first we revelled in our infancy. Yet, oh God!--the vision is even now before me--when I beheld that pale-faced youth struggling in the agonies of death,--those features full of mild benevolence, still more deadly in their hue and hideous in convulsive writhings,--the hand that I had so often pressed with real unabated friendship, dyed in the lifestream from his heart, as he worked his fingers in the deep wound that dismissed his noble spirit! It was in action, when rage and vengeance lashed the passions into fury. Yes! there he fell, and the ocean was his grave.

But to return to my introduction. Almost at the same moment that I entered the berth, a quarter-master came down and inquired if Mr. Moriarty was below. A fine handsome young man, about two-and-twenty, immediately answered in the affirmative. “Here’s a letter for you, sir,” said the quarter-master, “with the Admiralty seal on the back, and a direction full of sheep-shanks and long splices on the face of it.”

“Ay! ay! Johnson,” replied the young officer, “the old story I suppose:--‘the door of promotion is shut,’ and by and by I dare say they will send me word that the key’s lost. But let us see, you old sea-dragon, and don’t stand turning it over and over there, like a Lapland witch at her incantations!”

The veteran was examining the letter with rather an inquisitive eye; for his other eye was on an equally inquisitorial visit to a full bottle of rum that stood upon the table, and he hesitated to give up his charge to the young officer, who I now perceived had his right arm in a sling in consequence, as I afterwards learned, of a wound received in the battle of Aboukir.

“Cantations or no cantations, sir,” replied the old quarter-master, “this here letter weighs heavy, and I have been close-hauled for these two days past; and it’s dry work, sir, that tack and half tack.”

“Well, well, Johnson,” rejoined the midshipman, “you want a glass of grog, and you shall have it; so, steward, give him one, d’ye hear. And now hand over the scrawl.”

“Ay, ay, sir!” said Johnson, “and if it arn’t freighted with a pair of white lapels--put some more rum in, you black angel!--then call old Johnson a lubber, that’s all.” Moriarty laughed; but it was evident that he took the letter with some degree of tremour, especially as one of the youngsters jocosely addressed him as _Lieutenant_ Moriarty.

“Hold your prating, simpleton,” said he, “you wont find commissions so plentiful when you come to my age, unless you happen to be a stray slip of nobility, or have strong parliamentary interest to back you.”

The old quarter-master had been wrangling with the black steward for another drop, and then holding up his grog, exclaimed, “Your health, Lieutenant Moriarty! and I hope I shall live to see you carry ‘the red flag at the fore.’”

“With all my heart, Johnson,” replied Moriarty, his eyes sparkling with pleasure, for the letter was now unfolded; “and see, here is the first step up the ratlines sure enough; whether I shall ever reach the mast-head or not is another thing.”

It was an order from the Admiralty to go on shore and receive his commission, and every one crowded round him full of congratulations. I cannot say but I felt a little jealous about the “red flag at the fore,” for I considered _that_ as my exclusive right, though utterly ignorant of what it meant. But I was soon enlightened upon the subject, for being naturally communicative, I mentioned my expectations of getting “the red flag at the fore” during dinner, and several of the little midshipmen nearly choked themselves with laughing at me. I then learned that the “red flag at the fore” was the distinction of a vice-admiral of the red; a station that not more than one officer in five thousand ever attained, and even then only through very distinguished merit or peculiar good fortune. Nevertheless, I was nothing daunted, and the “red flag at the fore” urged me on.

We sailed a few days afterwards with a convoy for Bombay and China, but destined to cruise ourselves in the neighbourhood of the Cape of Good Hope. We had not quitted port more than a week, when we encountered a very severe gale. It was the first time I had beheld the sea in such commotion, and the spectacle was awfully grand. The noble ship was borne like a weed upon the ocean at the mercy of the tempest, which howled through the rigging so as to deaden the shouts of the seamen while furling the heavy sails upon the yards. Billow after billow beat over us, and as the rolling waves dashed up their frothy crests to heaven, roaring in the wildness of their fury, I could not help thinking how different the noise was from the comparison of my poor mother, when she heard the rain patter into the water-butt. The convoy, too, heavy-laden Indiamen and transports with troops, were scattered in every direction; but now and then we could distinguish one or two, as they appeared for a moment on the summit of the foaming surge, like dim specks upon the verge of the horizon.

Night came and brought its frowning horrors; a pitchy darkness which seemed almost palpable to the touch, hung with a funeral gloom above, whilst the wild waves, lashed by the raging tempest into sparkling foam, served but to render the blackness of the heavens more dense and horrible. At the commencement of the gale the wind was dead against us, and the ship was hove-to under a close-reefed main-topsail; but towards midnight the wind veered in our favour, and we flew through the liquid element with astonishing rapidity. The shifting of the gale had produced a still wilder commotion in the waves, which seemed to be struggling for the mastery. Wave after wave came raging after us and threatening to ingulf the frigate; but, like a bird upon the wing, the gallant vessel lifted to the swell and rushed down the steep abyss, tracking her path with brilliancy and light.

I cannot say but the spectacle rather terrified me, and more than once I wished the “red flag at the fore” at the--

“Stop,” says the reader, “and do not conclude the sentence.” But really, gentle reader, I must; for I was merely going to say that I wished the “red flag at the fore” at the mast-head, and myself snug in my own little bed-room with my poor mother to tie my night-cap, and to tuck me in.

Ossian or Byron, I forget which, says: “Once more upon the waters, yet once more, and the waves bound beneath me as a steed that knows his rider;” but I found a vast deal of difference between mounting the speckled waves and riding my own pretty little piebald pony. Morning at length appeared; the wind had again changed, and the ship was once more hove-to. But if the gale of the preceding night had been furious, it now came with redoubled violence, and the stately vessel which had so lately steered her course in majesty and pride, lay writhing and groaning between the billows like the soul of the mighty smuggling with the last pangs of mortality.

Orders were given to furl the foresail, and about sixty of the best seamen sprang aloft to execute the command. Already had they extended themselves upon the yard, and were gathering up the folds of the heavy canvass, when a tremendous sea came like an Alpine mountain rushing towards us. As the poor wretch, when the fierce eye of some famished beast of prey is glaring on him, stands fixed and immovable, so did the seamen suspend their labours when they saw the waters of destruction approaching. No human voice could warn them of their danger, no hand could be outstretched to save. There seemed to be a momentary stillness in the storm, and a shuddering instinct crept through every spirit,--a horrible dread of they knew not what.

Still onward rolled the wave; it struck the vessel on the bows, and threw its ponderous burden on the deck. A crash mingled with a wild tumultuous yell ensued, and when the spray had cleared, it was found that the fore-mast had been swept away, and upwards of fifty brave fellows were buried in the waves. Some still remained entangled in the rigging; but man after man was washed away till one alone was left. We could see him--we could speak to him--but only that Power who holds the tempests in his hands could rescue him from death. There he struggled; blank despair in every feature, as his strong limbs writhed round the shattered mast, and with convulsive agony he buffeted the waves. Of what avail was human strength in such an hour of peril? His hold relaxed;--it became weaker, and slowly he settled in his watery grave.

I need not describe the effects which such a scene produced upon the mind of a boy not thirteen years of age, and even at this moment,--so strong are first impressions,--the crash, the yell, and the agonized contortions of that drowning man, are present to my mind in all their horrors.

The wreck was cleared, the storm abated; a jury-mast was erected, and once more the stately frigate held her way upon the glossy surface of the azure wave. The first duty was to collect the convoy, and heavy forebodings of their fate were whispered among the crew. One by one, however, they gathered round us, showing manifest indications of the recent storm.

There is something peculiarly interesting to a seaman in the assembling of ships after a gale of wind; it occasions a sensation which a landsman can never feel, unless it is that sort of melancholy satisfaction when friends meet who have surmounted adversity together, but with the apprehension of similar calamity before them. Several of the convoy were yet undiscovered, and as the evening was closing in, the heavy report of a distant gun came booming on the waters. Another and another followed in rapid succession, and the frigate’s course was directed towards the spot from whence the sounds proceeded.

The sun went down in glory; its radiance tinged the bosom of the liquid element, but it never rose again on those whose signals of distress we heard. They must have seen his last beams arching the heavens with their golden brightness, and light and hope must have expired to them for ever.

The wind opposed our progress, and the swell still rolled against us, though now it was only the heaving of the sea without its breaking violence. Still we approached nearer to the object of our search, as the noise of the guns was more distinct, and the flashes were plainly visible. At length, about midnight, by the help of glasses, a dismasted ship was distinguished rolling like a log upon the waters. Every nerve was strained, every effort was made to intimate that assistance was at hand, and the boats were prepared to give succour, or to snatch from destruction. The sight was eagerly bent towards the spot where the clear horizon was broken by the dark object of our good intentions. Suddenly the curve appeared connected; in vain the eye sought the vessel in distress; for nothing obstructed the view of sky and ocean, and “She’s gone! she’s gone!” was simultaneously exclaimed by officers and men.

Yes! she was gone; and the gallant ship, that had endured the fury of the tempest, sunk when its wrath was spent. But that tempest had doubtless shaken her stout frame and rent her joints asunder. Yet it was hard to perish almost within the grasp of safety.

Hopes were still entertained that some, if not all, had escaped in the boats. Our own were hoisted out, and having neared the supposed spot, were immediately despatched. The morning dawned in magnificence and splendour; the sun rose in glorious majesty, but his earliest beams glanced on a scattered wreck that told a tale of death. The boats were actively employed in passing to and fro, but no appearance of human being could be discerned. The launch was discovered bottom upwards, and another boat broken nearly in two. The truth was soon disclosed, for the name, ATLAS, on the stern of the launch, informed us that nearly two hundred victims had perished in the deep. How the catastrophe had happened could only be matter for conjecture.

One of our boats fell in with some floating spars, which were lashed together so as to form a kind of floating raft; and on turning them over, a scene presented itself that filled every soul with anguish. A young female apparently about twenty-two, with an infant fastened round her body, had been secured to the timber,--perhaps the last sad office of a tender husband, who in the affectionate solicitude of his heart, had vainly hoped to rescue them from death. They were taken on board the frigate, sewed up in a hammock, and again consigned to that element at once their destruction and their grave.

One other ship was still missing; what became of her, I never heard; but after waiting a proper time, we pursued our way to the island of St. Jago, the place of rendezvous. A succession of fine weather soon deadened the remembrance of the past, and by the time of our reaching the Cape de Verds, the “red flag at the fore” had once more gained the ascendancy. The novelties which presented themselves at Port Praya, the oranges, the cocoa-nuts, and above all, the monkeys sporting in their native cunning unrestrained among the green foliage, were delightful; whilst the waters in the bay were so clear and transparent, that fish could be distinctly seen at the depth of from thirty to forty feet swimming above the silver sand that covered the bottom.

Having refitted and watered, the anchor was once more weighed, and we again directed our course to the place of destination. At the latitude appointed, we parted from our convoy, and then were left alone. Days, weeks passed on, and no sail ever appeared in sight to change the dull monotony. It was still the same unvaried scene of sky and ocean, and not unfrequently severe and boisterous weather. At the end of five weeks, we were gratified by the sight of a ship steering towards us, and in a few hours had retaken a fine Indiaman, prize to a French frigate. No time was lost in securing her, but the irreparable devastation caused by scurvy among our crew, rendered it necessary to proceed with our recapture to Madras; and thither we hastened.

On our arrival, fresh scenes that appeared like enchantment opened upon me. The natives on their catamarans, formed of three or four logs lashed together, dashing without dismay through the tremendous surf that rolled upon the beach with everlasting roar, and the manners and habits of the people, filled my young mind with wonder and admiration. I regret that my first letter to my poor mother is not forthcoming; in fact, the worthy soul considered it such a concentration of genius and talent,--I much question whether there was not some little exaggeration in my descriptions,--that she wore it completely out by carrying it in her pocket to show to all her friends and neighbours.

We remained three years in the East Indies without anything material occurring, and then the cry was--“Huzza for old England!” But it would be an almost endless task were I to enumerate all my adventures, perilous and humorous, and sometimes a combination of both, in my strenuous endeavours to attain the “red flag at the fore.” Before my six years had expired, I had been in seven different engagements, received three wounds, (one of them severe,) been once shipwrecked, and once taken prisoner, but escaped. Storms I had weathered many; had visited the coast of Africa, South America, and New South Wales; but still I endured every thing for the sake of the “red flag at the fore.”

At the expiration of six years, I passed my examination for lieutenant and received my certificate of qualification; which, after waiting a modest time, I forwarded with a memorial to my patron, who had been elevated to the House of Peers. His answer was, that “things were materially changed since I first went to sea; the same individuals were not now in office, and he much questioned whether he could obtain my promotion; indeed he hinted that it would be better for me to quit the service, and apply myself to some other profession.” I cannot describe my disappointment and vexation. Through the representations of this man, I had given up the sweets of childhood to endure the severest hardships and privations. I had toiled unflinchingly in my duty; I had fought the battles of my country, and could show my honourable scars; and thus to have the “red flag at the fore” torn down by the hand I expected to raise me!--my pride, and every feeling of my heart, revolted against it. I was determined to persevere.

Other six years passed away, in which I was a partaker of some of the most brilliant achievements of the war, when I was honoured, after thirteen years’ servitude, with a lieutenant’s commission. But even then it was not gained by any desperate act of valour, or by those feats which are dear and precious to every British sailor’s heart; but simply by obtaining (through the present of a handsome Cashmere shawl) the interest of a fair lady, highly esteemed by the First Lord of the Admiralty. However, I got the white lapels, and that was, as Moriarty observed, “the first step up the ratlines” towards the “red flag at the fore.”

After this, things went on tolerably ill among some sharp fighting and many hard knocks. My poor mother slipped her cable for the blessed haven of eternal rest. My sister got married to a pirate, who plundered my father’s property, and then cast her adrift upon the world. The old gentleman’s gray hairs were brought with sorrow to the grave, my sister’s coffin was soon placed upon his breast, and I was left desolate.

Still the “red flag at the fore,” like a will-o’the-wisp, lured me on. I conducted one of the fire-ships at Lord Cochrane’s attack upon the French fleet in Basque Roads; had the command of a gun-boat at the storming of St. Sebastian, and was with the army at the sortie from Bayonne, in which I got a crack on the head--not big enough to jump in, to be sure, but it set my brains spinning for a month. I commanded a fast-sailing schooner charged with despatches for Wellington, when he was expected to occupy Bordeaux, and entered the Garonne in the dead of the night, lighted on my way by the flames of a French eighty-gun ship that had been set on fire to prevent her falling into the hands of the English; and having anchored in a secure position, left my vessel in a four-oared boat, passed the batteries undiscovered, and executed my orders as the brave marshal stood in the great square, with white flags and beauty greeting his arrival.

Peace came: Bonaparte was elbowed off to Elba, and the “red flag at the fore” was as far off as ever. My vessel was paid off, and after many years of activity, I entered upon a life of indolence. But as Dr. Watts very wisely observes, in one of the hymns which I was compelled to learn at school when a child,--

“Satan finds some mischief still,
For idle hands to do;”--

so I e’en got married. The fair lady (she is now peeping over my shoulder) attracted my attention at church by the broad and bright ribands that graced the front of her bonnet. They reminded me of the “red flag at the fore,” and an inglorious sigh escaped. Now every body knows that a sigh is the beginning of love, for Byron says,

“Oh, love! what is it in this world of ours
That makes it fatal to be loved? Ah, why
With cypress dost thou wreath thy bowers,
And make thy best interpreter a sigh?”