The Heir of Kilfinnan Part 17

"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 hoa.r.s.e, 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 circ.u.mstances, 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 sh.o.r.e 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 circ.u.mstances 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.

"G.o.d grant she may," answered the officer.

On she flew. The sea dashed in ma.s.ses 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 ma.s.ses 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.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

Ned Davis, when he came down from aloft, had taken his post again near his beloved commander. "I am a good swimmer," he said to himself, "and I will do my best to save the captain. If I fail I will perish with him." Such were the thoughts which pa.s.sed through his mind, as the most critical moment of all had arrived. Nearer and nearer the corvette drew towards the rocks. Now they appeared broad on the lee-bow--now they were right abeam--and at length many a bold seaman drew his breath more freely as they were seen over the quarter. The danger was pa.s.sed. The beautiful little ship flew on, breasting bravely the foaming billows.

At length she had clear room once more to make a tack. She came about before it might have been expected, crippled as she was, and now with her courses hauled up she stood out to sea.

"Pipe below," cried the captain, leaving the weather side of the p.o.o.p, where he had stood since the ship had first got under weigh. "Keep her south-west, Mr Matson," he observed, as he retired to his cabin; "and call me on deck should any change take place in the weather."

It would be difficult to describe the feelings of those on sh.o.r.e who had watched for so long the manoeuvres of the corvette as she worked her way out of the bay. Often Lady Nora lifted up her hands as if praying to Heaven for the safety of those on board. Each time, too the ship approached the dangerous reef, with the character of which she was so well acquainted, her cheek turned paler than usual, and her bated breath showed the agitation of her feelings.

Yet, did she love the young commander of the corvette? She would scarcely have acknowledged thus much to herself. He had not declared his affection, and yet she felt almost sure that he was truly attached to her.

"I must remember that he was poor Barry's friend," she said to herself; "yet Barry did not pretend to know to what family he belonged; indeed, he would never tell us how he first became acquainted with him. That was very strange, for as often as I put the question he evaded it, and replied, 'I value him for himself, for the n.o.ble qualities he possesses, and not for what he may possibly have been.' On board ship we think only of our rank in the service, and what sort of fellow a man shows himself to be by his conduct. So Nora do not say anything more about the matter."

At length, when the corvette, as far as she was able to judge in the thick gathering gloom of night, seemed to be clear of the land, Nora could not refrain from giving vent to her pent-up feelings in tears, while a prayer of thankfulness went up from her heart to Heaven.

Some time pa.s.sed before she entirely recovered from the effects of the fearful danger in which she had been placed. She looked forward, day after day, for the return of the corvette, but in vain. She eagerly examined the newspapers, but none of them mentioned the _Ariadne_. She might still be on the coast of Ireland, or have been ordered elsewhere.

From what Captain Denham had said before he took his departure, she was fully persuaded he would soon return; and it must be confessed, she longed to ask him many questions. There were various doubts pa.s.sing through her mind which she was anxious to have solved. She scarcely, however, would trust herself to speak of them even to Sophy. She was soon to have her mind occupied with other cares.

Her father, who had never recovered the loss of his son, or his visit to the West Indies, was now very evidently declining in health. He could no longer follow the hounds, or ride out as before. He took little or no interest in public affairs. Even his neighbours he declined seeing when they called, though he seemed always glad to have a visit from Mr Jamieson or his blind niece. He held frequent conversations with the steward about his affairs, which seemed greatly to trouble him. At length it was determined to send to Dublin to request the presence of his family lawyer, Mr Finlayson, who, though now an old man, was sufficiently hale to undertake the journey. He had, it appeared, as had his father before him, managed for many years the Kilfinnan property.

Nora willingly agreed to write to request his attendance, for she felt, that as he was a faithful friend of her father's, he would certainly be a comfort to him, and might also be able to suggest a means of placing the property in a more satisfactory state than it was in at present.

She thought nothing of herself; it scarcely occurred to her that she was to become the heiress of it all. She knew that the t.i.tle would become extinct at her father's death, but that caused her no regret. She supposed that her income would enable her and her cousin Sophy to live as they had been accustomed. More she did not require.

Within a week Mr Patrick Finlayson arrived in a chaise from Dublin. In those days the journey was not performed as rapidly as at present, and the dangers to be encountered were not a few. He was a small, neatly made, active little man, with a clear complexion, which even his advanced age had scarcely succeeded in depriving of the hue of youth, though his hair was white as snow. His eyes were bright and intelligent, and his whole manner and appearance showed that he was still capable of a considerable amount of active exertion. His brown suit, knee breeches, and silk stockings, were set off by brightly polished steel b.u.t.tons and diamond buckles. Having paid his respects to the ladies of the family, and addressed Lady Nora in his usual easy, familiar style, which showed that he had from her earliest youth, claimed the honour of being one of her admirers and friends, he made more especial inquiries about the Earl.

"You will see a great change in my father," said Nora, "but your coming will, I feel sure, do him good. You know more about our affairs than we do. I only hope things are not worse than he supposes, and if they are, I must ask you to conceal the truth from him; I am afraid it would do him no good to make him aware of it, and would only deeply grieve him.

I care not so much if I only am the sufferer."

"You need not be alarmed, my dear Lady Nora," answered the old man, taking her hand. "Things are not worse than the Earl supposes; on the contrary, I have of late seen the importance of not allowing him to believe that they were improving as much as they have been. You know, probably, your good father's disposition, and are aware, that had he discovered this, he would very quickly have launched out again into his old habits of extravagance, which, however, from the sad account you give of him, he is not now likely to do, and therefore I am prepared to tell him the whole truth. Your affairs, Lady Nora, require nursing, I will confess to that, and careful management, but a few years of economy will, I hope, place them on a satisfactory footing."

"This is indeed pleasant news you bring us, Mr Finlayson, I own when I heard that you had consented to come, that I feared things were rather worse than better, but I am indeed very grateful to you for coming; you have always been one of our truest friends, and I am sure at the present moment you will be a great comfort to my poor father. I will let the Earl know of your arrival, and I am sure he will be glad to see you at once. During the last few days he has grown very much weaker, and his medical attendant will not tell me what he thinks of his case. He himself speaks very willingly to our friend and neighbour, Mr Jamieson, who, when I ask him what he thinks, always looks very grave, and replies, 'that the lives of all of us are in G.o.d's hands, and that we should be prepared to lose those we love at any moment.' This makes me, as you may suppose, extremely anxious."

While Lady Nora was speaking the old gentleman became very serious.

"I should like to see the Earl as soon as possible," he observed; "I have several matters of importance to consult him about, which I should not like to put off until he becomes still weaker than you tell me he is at present. You will excuse me, Lady Nora, when I say I should like to be alone with him for some time."

"O yes, sir," said Lady Nora; "I know that whatever you have to say to my father you have the right to say to him; and I feel such perfect confidence in you that I have no desire to pry into any secrets you may have with him."

Nora having left the lawyer, soon returned with the information, that the Earl was ready to receive him.

Mr Finlayson found the Earl sitting in an armchair, propped up with pillows, gazing out on the ocean, on whose blue and slightly ruffled waves the sunbeams were playing brilliantly. The Earl smiled as his old friend entered, and held out his hand warmly to him.

"Sit down, Finlayson; you have come at a sad moment. I feel a strange weakness creeping over me, and I am glad that you have not longer put off your visit. Yes, I believe the moment is approaching for which we all should be prepared, when I must leave this world. I wish I could look back to all I have done during my life with satisfaction; but I cannot say that I can do that. I have been hospitable and generous, I own, according to the notion of people; but alas! Finlayson, for the peasantry under my charge, for the mult.i.tudes of my poorer neighbours, how little have I done? I might have set them a better example; I might have obtained some education for them; and, perhaps, by going among them, restrained them from committing the excesses into which, from time to time, they have plunged."

"Very true," answered the lawyer; "I believe there are very few people who have not to say something like that, when they are about to leave the world; but we must not think of what we have done or left undone ourselves. You believe in the simple Gospel; I am sure you do, or you would have listened to Mr Jamieson's preaching, as I have often seen you doing--in vain. We will speak of that by-and-by. I rather hope that you think worse of your case than you should do. I do not hear that the doctor is of the same opinion as you are, and so, my dear lord, there are certain points with regard to your property which I, as your legal adviser, would wish, in the first place, to discuss."

Mr Finlayson then entered into particulars, which it is not here necessary to introduce.