The King's Own Part 56

"Ding-dong-ding-dong-bell."

"Mr Price, what does the Scripture say? 'Judgments are prepared for scorners,'" continued the boatswain with vehemence.

Price had resumed his former att.i.tude, and made no answer. As soon as the interruption of the lieutenant had ceased, Robinson resumed his interrogatory to the boatswain: "Where then?--not in h.e.l.l, I hope."

"Ay," returned the latter, "in the fire that is never quenched, and for ever and ever."

"I hope not," replied Robinson; "I may deserve punishment, and I know I do. I've been overhauling my log-book, while the sea here has been dashing over my bows, and washing my figure-head; and there are some things I wish I could forget;--they will rise up in judgment against me; but surely not for ever?"

"You should have thought of that before, my good fellow. I am sorry for you,--sorry for all those who have perished, for they were good seamen, and, in the worldly service, have done well. I was reflecting the other day whether, out of the whole navy, I should be able to muster one single ship's company in heaven."

"Well, Mr Hardsett, it's my firm opinion, that when the hands are turned up for punishment in the next world, we shall be sarved out according to our desarts. Now, that's my belief; and I shan't change it for yours, Mr Hardsett, for I thinks mine the more comfortable of the two."

"It won't do, Robinson, you must have faith."

"So I have, in G.o.d's mercy, boatswain."

"That won't do. Yours is not the true faith."

"Mayhap not, but I hope to ride it out with it nevertheless, for I have it well backed with hope; and if I still drive,"--said Robinson, musing a short time--"why, I have charity as a sheet-anchor, to bring me up again. It's long odds but our bodies will soon be knocked to shivers in those breakers, and we shall then know who's right, and who's wrong. I see small chance of our saving ourselves, unless indeed we could walk on the sea, and there was but one that ever did that."

"Had the apostle had faith, he would not have sunk," rejoined the boatswain.

"Have you then more faith than the apostle?"

"I have, thanks be to Jehovah, the true faith," cried the boatswain, raising his eyes and hands to heaven.

"Then _walk on sh.o.r.e_," said the captain of the forecastle, looking him steadfastly in the face.

Stimulated by the request, which appeared to put his courage as a man, and his faith as a Christian, to the test, and, at the moment, fanatic even to insanity, the boatswain rose, and casting off the ropes which he had wound round his body, was about to comply with Robinson's request.

A few moments more, and the raging sea would have received him, had not our hero, in conjunction with the captain of the forecastle, held him down with all his power. "We doubt not your faith, Mr Hardsett," said Seymour, "but the time of miracles is past. It would be self-murder.

He who raised the storm, will, in his own good time, save us, if he thinks fit."

Price, who had listened to the conversation, and had watched the motions of the boatswain, who was casting off the lashings which had secured him, had, unperceived, done the same, and now jumped upon his legs, and collared the astonished boatswain, roaring out--

"Zounds, show me what thou'lt do!

Woul't weep? woul't fight? woul't fast? woul't tear thyself?"

"Why, he's mad!" exclaimed the terrified boatswain, who was not far off the point himself.

"Mad!" resumed Price.

"Not a soul But felt a fever of the mad, and play'd Some tricks of desperation.

"The king's son, Ferdinand, With hair upstarting (then like reeds, not hair), Was the first man that leaped; cried, h.e.l.l is empty, And all the devils are here!"

As the maniac finished the last words, before they could be aware of his intention, he made a spring from the deck over the bulwark, and disappeared under the wave. The boatswain, who had been diverted from his fanatical attempt by the unexpected attack of Price, more than by the remonstrances of his companions, resumed his position, folding his arms, and casting his eyes to heaven. The captain of the forecastle was silent, and so was our hero--the thoughts of the two were upon the same subject--eternity.

Eternity--the only theme that confuses, humbles, and alarms the proud intellect of man. What is it? The human mind can grasp any defined s.p.a.ce, any defined time, however vast; but this is beyond time, and too great for the limited conception of man. It had no beginning and can have no end. It cannot be multiplied, it cannot be divided, it cannot be added unto--you may attempt to subtract from it, but it is useless.

Take millions and millions of years from it, take all the time that can enter into the compa.s.s of your imagination, it is still whole and undiminished as before--all calculation is lost. Think on--the brain becomes heated, and oppressed with a sensation of weight too powerful for it to bear; reason totters in her seat, and you rise with the conviction of the impossibility of the creature attempting to fathom the Creator--humiliated with the sense of your own nothingness, and impressed with the tremendous majesty of the Deity.

Time is Man--Eternity is G.o.d!

CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE.

Thou art perfect, then, that our ship hath touched upon the deserts of Bohemia?

Ay, my lord and fear we have landed in ill time.

WINTER'S TALE.

About midnight the moon burst through the clouds, which gradually rolled away to the western horizon, as if they had been furled by some invisible spirits in the air. The wind, after several feeble gusts, like the last breathings of some expiring creature unwilling to loosen the "silver cord," subsided to a calm. It then shifted round to the eastward. The waves relaxed in their force until they did little more than play upon the side of the wreck, so lately the object of their fury. The dark shadows of the rocks were no longer relieved by the white foam of the surf, which had raged among them with such violence.

Before morning all was calm, and the survivors, as they shrunk and shivered in their wet garments, encouraged each other with the prospect of a speedy termination to their sufferings on the reappearance of daylight. The sun rose in splendour, and seemed, as he darted his searching rays through the cloudless expanse, to exclaim in his pride, "Behold how I bring light and heat, joy and salvation, to you, late despairing creatures!" The rocks of the reef above water, which had previously been a source of horror, and had been contemplated as the sure engines of their destruction, were now joyfully reckoned as so many resting-spots for those who were about to attempt to reach the land.

The most daring and expert swimmers launched themselves into the water, and made for the nearest cl.u.s.ter of rocks, with difficulty gaining a footing on them, after clinging by the dark and slippery sea-weed which covered their tops, like s.h.a.ggy hair on the heads of so many emerging giants. The waving of the hands of the party who had succeeded in gaining the rocks, encouraged a second to follow; while others, who could not swim, were busily employed in searching for the means of supporting themselves in the water, and floating themselves on sh.o.r.e.

Self, that had predominated, now lost its ground. Those who had allowed their shipmates to perish in attempting to gain the same place of security as themselves, without an effort in their favour, or one sigh for their unlucky fate, now that hope was revived almost to a certainty of deliverance, showed as much interest in the preservation of others lying in a state of exhaustion, as they did for their own. The remaining officers recovered their authority, which had been disregarded, and the shattered fragment of the _Aspasia_ rea.s.sumed their rights of discipline and obedience to the last. In a few hours, sick, disabled, and wounded were all safely landed, and the raft which had been constructed returned to the wreck, to bring on sh.o.r.e whatever might be useful.

Our hero, who was the only officer who had been saved, with the exception of the boatswain, had taken upon himself the command, and occupied himself with the arrangements necessary for the shelter and sustenance of his men. A range of barren hills, abruptly rising from the iron-bound coast, covered with large fragments and detached pieces of rock, without any symptom of cultivation, or any domesticated animal in sight which might imply that human aid was not far distant, met the eye of Seymour, as he directed it to every point, in hopes of succour for his wounded and exhausted companions. One of the men, whom he had sent to reconnoitre, returned in a few minutes, stating, that behind a jutting rock, which he pointed to with his finger, not two hundred yards distant, he had discovered a hut, or what in Ireland is termed a shealing, and that there appeared to be a bridle road from it leading over the mountain. To this shelter our hero determined to remove his disabled men, and in company with the boatswain and the man who had returned with the intelligence, set off to examine the spot. Pa.s.sing the rock, he perceived that the hut, which bore every sign, from its smokeless chimney and air of negligence and decay, to have been some time deserted, stood upon a piece of ground, about an acre in extent, which had once been cultivated, but was now luxuriant with a spontaneous crop of weeds and thistles. He approached the entrance, and as the rude door creaked upon its hinges when he threw it open, was saluted by a faint voice, which cried, "_Qui va la_?"

"Why there's Irishmen inside," observed the sailor.

"Frenchmen rather, I should imagine," replied our hero, as he entered and discovered seven or eight of the unfortunate survivors of the French line-of-battle ship, who had crawled there, bruised, cut, and apparently in the last state of exhaustion.

"_Bonjour, camarade_," said one of them, with difficulty raising himself on his elbow--"_As-tu d'eau-de-vie_?"

"I am afraid not," replied Seymour, looking with compa.s.sion on the group, all of which had their eyes directed towards him, although, from their wounds and bruises, they were not able to turn their bodies. "We are shipwrecked as well as you."

"What! did you belong to that cursed frigate?"

"We did," replied Seymour, "and there are but few of us alive to tell the tale."

"_Vive la France_!" cried the Frenchman; "_puisqu'elle n'a pas echappee--je n'ai plus des regrets_."

"_Viva, viva_!" repeated the rest of the French party, in faint accents.

"_Et moi, je meurs content_!" murmured one, who, in a few seconds afterwards expired.

"Are you the only survivors?" demanded Seymour.

"All that are left," replied the spokesman of the party, "out of eight hundred and fifty men. _Sacristie--as-tu d'eau-de-vie_?"

"I hardly know what we have--something has been saved from the wreck,"

replied Seymour, "and shall cheerfully be shared with you with all the a.s.sistance we can afford. We were enemies, but we are now brothers in affliction. I must quit you to bring up our wounded men; there is sufficient room, I perceive, for all of us. _Adieu, pour le moment_!"

"_Savez-vous que c'est un brave garcon ce lieutenant-la_?" observed the Frenchman to his companions, as Seymour and his party quitted the hut.