 | CHAPTER XXI. Elinor Wyllys, or, The young folk of Longbridge |  |
21. CHAPTER XXI.
“Such news, my lord, as grieves me to unfold.”
Henry IV.
The Petrel was a very pretty little schooner, pronounced
a crack craft by the knowing ones. She sat so buoyantly on
the water when motionless, and glided along so gracefully
when under way, that even landsmen and landswomen must
have admired her. Let it not be supposed that the word
landswomen is here used unadvisedly: although the Navy
Department is decidedly ungallant in its general character,
and seldom allows ladies to appear on board ship, excepting
at a collation or a ball, yet it is well known that in some of
the smaller sea-port towns, the female portion of the population
are so much interested in nautical matters, and give so
much time and attention to the subject, that they are looked
upon as very good judges of spars and rigging; and it is
even affirmed, that some of these charming young “salts”
are quite capable of examining a midshipman on points of
seamanship. If fame has not belied them, such are the accomplishments
of the belles of Norfolk and Pensacola; while
the wives and daughters of the whalers at Nantucket, are
shape of a hull. Hubert de Vaux hoped they had, for the
thought it a pity that the Petrel's beauties should be thrown
away.
On the morning they sailed, when Elinor had watched the
boat as she lay in the river, they had been waiting for Bruno.
Harry wished to carry the dog with him; but after following
Hazlehurst to the boat, he had returned home again; he was,
however, enticed on board, and they hoisted sail, and slowly
moved out of sight.
In spite of some little delay, the Petrel made a very good
day's work. That night and the following the party slept
on board, and seemed very well satisfied with their quarters;
they intended to run out of sight of land before the end of
their cruise, but as yet they had landed every few hours for
fresh water, vegetables, milk, &c.; as it did not enter at all
into their calculations to be put on a short allowance of anything
desirable. On the afternoon of the third day, the
Petrel reached the wharf of a country place on Long-Island,
where the party landed, according to a previous invitation,
and joined some friends for a couple of days' shooting, which
proved a pleasant variety in the excursion; the sport was
pronounced good, and the gentlemen made the most of it.
Mr. Stryker, however, complained that the pomp and circumstance
of sporting was wanted in this country.
“So long as we have the important items of good guns,
good marksmen, and real wild-game, we need not find fault,”
said Harry.
Many lamentations succeeded, however, upon the rapid
disappearance of game from all parts of the country.
“There I have the best of it,” said Mr. Stryker to his
host. “In the next twenty years you may expect to find
your occupation gone; but I shall at least have fishing in
abundance all my days; though at times I am not quite so
sure of the brook-trout.”
“I don't think Jonathan will be able to exterminate all
shamefully wasteful fellow; but I really think there is some
danger for the oysters; if the population increases, and continues
to eat them, in the same proportion they do now, I
am afraid Jonathan of the next generationw will devour the
whole species.”
From Glen-Cove the Petrel made a reach across the Sound
to Sachem's-Head, where Mr. Stryker enjoyed to perfection
the luxuries of clam-soup, lobster-salad, and chowder.
Their next port was Nantucket. They happened to arrive
there just before a thunder-shower, and Charlie Hubbard
was much struck with the wild, desolate look of the island.
He pointed out to Hazlehurst the fine variety of netural tints
to be traced in the waves, in the low sand-banks, and the
dark sky forming the back-ground. Nantucket is a barren
spot, indeed, all but bare of vegetation; scarcely a shrub
will grow there, and even the tough beach-grass is often
swept away in large tracts; while the forms of the sand-hills
vary with every storm. The town itself, however, is a busy,
lively little spot—one of the most nautical in feeling and
character to be found on the globe. The chief interests of
the inhabitants centre in the ocean; and even the very ornaments
of their houses are spoils of the deep, sheels and fishbones
from distant latitudes, and sailor's fancy-work in various
materials, all connected in some way with the sea. Charlie
made a sketch of the island, and determined to return there
and paint a picture of some size. The next day, which was
Sunday, they remained at Nantucket; there is a pretty little
church in the town, and Charlie, Harry, and Mr. Smith
attended service there; the rest of the gentlemen preferring
to idle away the morning in a less praiseworthy manner.
One of young de Vaux's crew was taken sick here, and
he was obliged to secure another man before leaving the
island; it was easy to do so, however, as one who was waiting
for a passage to New York soon offered, and the matter
was settled.
Early on Monday morning they again made sail, for
Martha's Vineyard; from thence the Petrel's head was to be
turned southward, and after coasting the eastern shore of
Long-Island, they expected to return to the wharf at Broadlawn,
as fast as the winds would carry them. The Vineyard,
owing to a more sheltered position, bears a different aspect
from the barren sands of Nantucket; parts of the island are
well wooded. Choosing a pleasant bay known to their pilot,
where a rude wharf had been built, the party landed and
prepared to dine, and pass some hours there. They were
no sooner on shore than Mr. Stryker made his arrangements
for fishing; having secured bait, Dr. Van Horne and himself,
with one of the men, took the Petrel's boat and rowed
off from shore, changing their ground occasionally, until they
had turned the point which formed the bay on one side, and
were no longer in sight. De Vaux and Smith took their
guns and went into the wood; Charlie brought out his sketch-book,
and was soon engaged in taking some tints, in water-colours,
from a heavy bank of clouds which had been slowly
rising in the west for several hours. Hazlehurst was lying
on the grass near him, with a spy-glass, watching a couple
of sloops in the distance: turning his head accidentally towards
the spot where they were commencing preparations
for dinner, Harry saw one of the men, the new recruit, whom
he had not yet remarked, looking at him closely. It struck
Hazlehurst that he had met this man before; the sailor saw
that he was observed, and after a moment's hesitation he
approached, touching his hat with the common salutation of
a seaman, and looking as if he wished to speak, but scarcely
knew how to begin.
“Have you anything to say to me, my friend!—It strikes
me I have seen your face somewhere lately.”
“If you are Mr. Hazlehurst, I guess, sir, you seed me not
long since,” replied the man, a little embarrassed.
It suddenly flashed upon Harry's mind, that it was during
the Stanley trial that he had seen this person; yes, he could
on that occasion. Hazlehurst gave him a keen look; the
fellow faltered a little, but begged Harry to step aside for
a moment, as he wished to speak alone with him. They
moved to the adjoining bank, within the edge of the wood,
and a conversation followed of some consequence to Hazlehurst,
certainly. After a few prefatory remarks, this man
offered to make important revelations, upon condition that he
should be screened from justice—being considered as state's
evidence—and rewarded by Harry for volunteering his services;
to which Hazlehurst readily agreed.
We shall tell his story for him, rather as it appeared at a
later day, than in the precise words in which it was first
given at Martha's Vineyard. By his disclosures, the villany
of Clapp and his client were placed beyond a doubt; and he
himself was good authority, for he was Robert Stebbins, the
witness who had sworn to having returned the pocket-book
and the accompanying documents to the plaintiff, as their
rightful owner; he now confessed that he had perjured himself
for a heavy bribe, but stood ready to turn state's evidence,
and reveal all he knew of the plot. Those papers had actually
been placed in his care thirteen years since by his own
brother, Jonathan Stebbins, who had died of small-pox in an
hospital at Marseilles. This brother had been a favourite
companion of William Stanley's from his first voyage; they
had shipped together in the Jefferson, and before sailing,
Stanley had placed a package of papers and other articles,
for safe-keeping, in an old chest of Stebbins's, which was
left with the sailor's mother in Massachusetts. They were
wrecked in the Jefferson on the coast of Africa, as had been
already reported; but they were not drowned, they both
succeeded in reaching the shore, having lashed themselves
to the same spar. It was a desert, sandy coast, and they
were almost starved after having reached the land; their
only shelter was a small cave in a low ledge of rocks near
the beach; they fed upon half-putrid shell-fish thrown upon
that had formed on the rock during the storm; for they
had saved nothing from the wreck but a sealed bottle, containing
their protections as American sailors, some money in
an old glove, and a few other papers. William Stanley had
been ill before the gale, and he had not strength to bear up
against these hardships; he declined rapidly, and aware that
he could not live, the young man charged his companion, if
he ever returned to America, to seek his family, relate the
circumstances of his death, and show the papers in the
bottle—an old letter to himself, and within it the notice of
his father's marriage, which he had cut from a paper, obtained
from an American vessel spoken on the voyage—and
also the package left on shore in the old chest, as these documents
would be considered testimonials of his veracity. He
farther charged Stebbins to say that he asked his father's forgiveness,
acknowledging that he died repenting of his past
misconduct. The third day after the gale the young man
expired, and Stebbins buried him in the sand near the cave.
The survivor had a hard struggle for life; the rain-water had
soon dried away, and he set out at night in search of a spring
to relieve his thirst, still keeping in sight of the shore. As
the morning sun rose, when all but exhausted, he discovered
on the beach several objects from the wreck, which had
drifted in that direction, the wind having changed after the
gale. He found a keg of spirits and some half-spoiled biscuit,
and by these means his life was prolonged. He made
a bag of his shirt, bound a few things on his back, and buried
others in the sand, to return to if necessary, and then continued
to follow the shore northward, in search of some spring
or stream. Fortunately, he soon came to a woody tract
which promised water, and climbing a tree he watched the
wild animals, hoping to discover where they drank; at length,
following a flock of antelopes, he came suddenly upon the
bank of a stream of some size; and to his unspeakable joy,
saw on the opposite bank a party of white men, the first
proved to be Swedes belonging to a ship in the offing, and
immediately took him into their boat. The vessel was bound
to Stockholm, where she carried young Stanley's shipmate;
from there he went to St. Petersburgh, where he met with
the brother who related his story to Hazlehurst, and both
soon after enlisted in the Russian navy. They were sent to
the Black Sea, and kept there and in the Mediterranean for
five years, until the elder brother, Jonathan Stebbins, died of
small-pox in a hospital at Marseilles, having never returned
to America since the wreck of the Jefferson. Before his
death, however, he left all his effects and William Stanley's
papers to his brother. This man, Robert Stebbins, seemed
to have paid very little attention to the documents; it was by
mere chance that he preserved the old letter, and the marriage
notice within it, for he confessed that he had torn up the protection,
once when he wanted a bit of paper: he had never
known William Stanley himself, the inquiries about the
young man had ceased before he returned to America, and
he had attached no importance whatever to these papers.
He had left them where they had first been placed, in the
old sea-chest at his mother's house, near New Bedford, while
he led the usual wandering life of a sailor. He told Harry
that he had at last quite forgotten this package, until he accidentally
fell in with a man calling himself William Stanley,
at a low tavern, only some five or six years since, and, to his
amazement, heard him declare he had been wrecked in the
Jefferson.
“The fellow was half-drunk,” said Stebbins; “but I knew
his yarn was a lie all the time, for I had sailed with him in
another ship, at the time my brother Jonathan was wrecked
in the Jefferson. He shipped then under the name of Benson,
but I knew his real name was Edward Hopgood—”
“Edward Hopgood!” exclaimed Harry, passing his hand
over his forehead—“surely I have heard that name before.
Wait a moment,” he added, to Stebbins; while he endeavoured
familiar sound to him. At length his eye brightened, the
whole matter became more clear; he recollected when a
mere child, a year or two before Mr. Stanley's death, while
staying at Greatwood during a vacation, to have heard of the
bad conduct of a young man named Edward Hopgood, a
lawyer's clerk in the adjoining village, who had committed
forgery and then run away. The circumstances had occurred
while Harry was at Greatwood, and had been so much
talked of in a quiet, country neighbourhood, as to make a
decided impression on himself, child as he was. Harry also
remembered to have heard Mr. Stanley tell Mr. Wyllys that
this Hopgood was very distantly related to himself, through
the mother, who had made a very bad connexion; adding,
that this lad had been at Greatwood, and would have been
assisted by himself, had he not behaved very badly, and done
so much to injure his own son that he had been forbidden
the house. Harry farther remembered, that Clapp had belonged
to the same office from which this Hopgood had run
away. There was, however, one point which he did not
understand; he thought he had since heard that this Hopgood
had turned actor, and died long since of yellow-fever,
at New Orleans. Still, he felt convinced that there was a
good foundation for Stebbins's story, and he hoped soon to
unravel the whole plot, from the clue thus placed in his
hands.
“Go on,” said Harry, after this pause. “You say this
man, whom you knew to be Hopgood, called himself William
Stanley. What became of him?”
“It is the same chap that hoisted your colours, Mr. Hazlehurst:
him that the jury gave the verdict to in Philadelphia.”
“Yes; I knew it must be the same individual before you
spoke,” said Harry, with a view to keep his informant accurate.
“But how did you know that his name was Hopgood?
for you say he had shipped under another.”
“I knew it because he had told me so himself. He told me
gone to New Orleans and turned play-actor a while, then
shammed dead, and had his name printed in the papers
among them that died of yellow-fever. He told me all that
in his first voyage, when we were shipmates, and that was
just the time that my brother Jonathan was wrecked in the
Jefferson.”
“When you afterwards heard him say he was William
Stanley, did you tell him you knew his real name?”
“Yes; I told him I knew he lied; for my brother had
buried Stanley with his own hands, and that I had his papers
at home. Then he told me he was only laughing at the
green-horns.”
“Did you mention to any one at the time that you knew
this man was not William Stanley?”
“No, sir, for I didn't speak to him until we were alone;
and we parted company next morning, for I went to sea.”
“When did you next see Hopgood?”
“Well, I didn't fall in with him again for a long while,
until this last spring. When I came home from a voyage to
China in the Mandarin, last May, I went to my mother's,
near New Bedford, and then I found a chap had been to see
her in the winter, and persuaded her to give him all the
papers in the old chest, that had belonged to William Stanley,
making out he was one of the young man's relations. It
was that lawyer Clapp; and Hopgood had put him on the
track of them 'ere papers.”
“What were the documents in your chest?”
“Most of what they had to show came from me: to be
sure, Hopgood had got some letters and papers, written to
himself of late years under the name of William Stanley;
but all they had before the wreck of the Jefferson came from
me.”
“Were there any books among the articles in your possession?”
“No, sir; nothing but the pocket-book.”
“Are you quite sure? Was there not one book with
William Stanley's name in it?”
“Not one;—that 'ere book they had in court didn't come
from me; how they got it I don't know,” replied Stebbins
positively; who, it seemed, knew nothing of the volume of
the Spectator.
“Where did you next meet Hopgood?”
“Well, I was mad when I found he had got them papers;
but the lawyer had left a message with my mother, saying
if I came home, she was to tell me I'd hear something to my
advantage by applying to him. So I went after him to the
place where he lives; and sure enough there was Hopgood,
and he and Clapp as thick as can be together. I guess they'd
have liked it better if I had never showed myself again:
but they got round me, and told me how it was all settled,
and if I would only lend a hand, and keep quiet about Hopgood,
and speak for them once in a while, they would enter
into an agreement to give me enough to make a skipper of
me at once. Them 'ere lawyers they can make black look
like white—and so I agreed to it at last.”
Hazlehurst strongly suspected that less persuasion had
been necessary than the man wished him to believe.
“Did they tell you all their plan?”
“Pretty much all; they said it was easy to make people
believe Hopgood was William Stanley, for he looked so much
like the young man, that he had been asked if that wasn't
his name. He said it was that first gave him the notion of
passing off for William Stanley—that, and knowing all about
the family, and the young man himself. He said Stanley
had no near relations who would be likely to remember him;
there was only one old gentleman they was afraid of, but
they calculated they knew enough to puzzle him too. Hopgood
had been practising after Stanley's handwriting; he
was pretty good at that trade when he was a shaver,” said
Stebbins, with a look which showed he knew the story of
the forgery. “He was bred a lawyer, and them 'ere lawyers
out a story from my papers and what they know'd before, and
got it all ready in a letter; they agreed that from the time of
the wreck, they had better keep pretty straight to Hopgood's
real life; and so they did.”
“They seem to have laid all their plans before you.”
“Well, they couldn't help it, for they wanted me to tell
them all I heard from my brother; but I told 'em to speak
first. They made out that Hopgood had a right to the property;
for they said that old Mr. Stanley had no family to
leave it to, that you was a stranger, and that Hopgood was a
relation.”
“This Hopgood, who first helped to corrupt William
Stanley, even if he had actually been a near relation, would
have been the last human being to whom Mr. Stanley would
have left his property,” said Harry, coolly. “But go on
with your story; why did they not show the pocket-book
before the trial?”
“They settled it so, because they thought it would look
better before the jury.”
“Why did you change your own mind so soon after the
trial? You should have come to me before.”
“Hopgood and I had a quarrel only three days ago, when
he was drunk; he swore they could have done without me,
and I swore I'd be revenged. Then that fellow, Clapp,
wouldn't pay me on the spot according to agreement, as soon
as they had gained the cause. I had kept my part, and he
hadn't lifted a finger yet for me; nor he wouldn't if he could
help it, for all he had given me his word. I know him from
more than one thing that came out; he is one of your fellows
who sham gentlemen, with a fine coat to his back; but I
wouldn't trust him with a sixpence out of sight; no, nor out
of arm's length,” and Stebbins went on, swearing roundly at
Clapp and Hopgood, until Harry interrupted him.
“I know them 'ere lawyers, they think they can cheat
Jack any day; but I won't trust him an hour longer! I know
warning, though their coats be both cut off the same piece
of broadcloth. I haven't served under Uncle Sam's officers
for nothing. Now I'll trust you, Mr. Hazlehurst, as long
as it suits you; I'd no more have talked to Clapp without
having his name down in black and white, as I have to you,
than I'd be shot.”
“The agreement I have made shall be strictly kept,” replied
Harry, coldly. “Had you come to me before the trial,
you would have had the same reward, without the crime of
perjury.”
“Well, that 'ere perjury made me feel uncomfortable; and
what with having sworn vengeance on Clapp and Hopgood,
I made up my mind to go straight back to Philadelphy, and
turn state's evidence. I was waiting for a chance to get to
New York when I saw you on the wharf at Nantuckct, and
I knew you in a minute.”
The conversation was here interrupted by a call from the
beach, which attracted Harry's attention, after having been
so much engrossed during the disclosures of Stebbins, as to
be quite regardless of what was going on about him. It was
de Vaux who had called—he now approached.
“I couldn't think where that fellow, Stebbins, had got to;
if you have nothing for him to do here, Hazlehurst, he is
wanted yonder.”
Harry and the sailor accordingly parted. After exchanging
a few words to conclude their agreement, they both returned
to the beach.
The Petrel seemed to be getting under way again; Smith
and de Vaux, who had just returned from the wood with
their guns, and Charlie, who had just left his sketching apparatus,
were standing together looking on when Harry
joined them.
“I didn't know what had become of you,” said Charlie.
“What a long yarn that fellow seemed to be telling you!”
“It was well worth hearing,” said Harry, with a significant
look at his friend.
“Really? I had some hope it might prove so from the
man's look,” added Charlie, comprehending at once the drift
of the conversation, though he had little idea of its complete
success in unravelling the plot.
“You shall hear it before long,” added Harry.
“When you please; in the mean time I wish you joy of
any good news!”
“But what are you about here, de Vaux? I thought we
were to remain on the island till sun-set.”
“So we shall; but it seems that fellow, Black Bob, has
forgot the vegetables I ordered him to bring from Nantucket;
we have discovered a house with something like a garden
on the opposite point, and I am going to send Bob with the
boy Sam on a foraging expedition; I dare say they will find
potatoes and onions at least. That is the spot; do you see
the apple-trees? With the glass I saw a woman moving
about, and milk-pans drying in the sun.'
“Why don't you send the boat?
“Stryker hasn't come back yet, and there is wind enough
to carry the Petrel over and back again in half an hour.”
“Smith and I are going as commanding officers; and you
will have a much better dinner for our exertions, no doubt,”
said Charlie.
“Holloa, there, Bob—Sam!—tumble on board; mind you
bring all the garden-stuff they can spare. You Bob, see if
you can pick up half you contrived to forget, sir, at Nantucket.
You deserve to be made to swim across for it,” said
de Vaux.
“Never could swim a stroke in my born days, sir,” muttered
Black Bob.
“There isn't much choice of sa'ace at Nantucket, any
way,” added the boy Sam.
“Here we go,” said Charlie, jumping lightly on board,
followed by Smith.
“It is possible you may find some melons, Hubbard; don't
forget to ask for them,” said de Vaux.
“Ay, ay, sir,” replied Charlie, nodding as the Petrel
moved off. The boy was steering, while Black Bob and the
gentlemen tended the sails; and the little schooner glided
gracefully on her way, with a light breeze, sufficiently
favourable.
Harry went to take a look at Charlie's sketch, which he
found just as the young artist had left it—spirited and true
to nature as usual, but only half-finished. De Vaux looked
into the chowder pot, where all seemed to be going on well.
He then joined Harry, and the young men continued walking
together near the shanty, where preparations for dinner were
going on under the charge of Stebbins and the acting steward
of the cruise.
“It is nearly time Stryker made his appearance with the
fish,” said Harry.
“If the sport is good, we shan't see him this hour yet,”
replied de Vaux. “He will only come back in time to put
the finishing stroke to the chowder.”
“If he waits too long he will have a shower,” observed
Harry, pointing eastward, where dark clouds were beginning
to appear above the wood.
“Not under an hour I think,” said de Vaux. “He will
take care of himself at any rate—trust to Stryker for that.”
They turned to look at the Petrel. Some ten or fifteen
minutes had passed since she left the little wharf, and she
was already near her destination; the point on which the
farm-house stood being scarcely more than a mile distant, in
a direct line, and a single tack having proved sufficient to
carry her there.
“The wind seems to be falling,” said Harry, holding up
his hand to feel the air. “It is to be hoped they will make
a quick bargain, or they may keep your potatoes too late to
be boiled for to-day's dinner.”
De Vaux took up the glass to look after their movements.
“They have made the point, handsomely,” he said; “and
there is a woman coming down to the shore, and a boy, too.”
The friends agreed that there seemed every prospect of a
successful negotiation; for a woman was seen going towards
the garden with a basket, and Sam, the boy, had landed.
Before long a basket was carried down from the house;
while Sam and the woman were still busy in the garden.
“They had better be off as soon as they can,” said de
Vaux, “for the wind is certainly falling.”
“There is a shower coming up over the island, Captain
de Vaux,” said Stebbins, touching his hat.
“Coming, sure enough! — look yonder!” — exclaimed
Harry, pointing eastward, where heavy clouds were now seen
rising rapidly over the wood.
“We shall have a shower, and something of a squall, I
guess,” added Stebbins.
There could not indeed be much doubt of the fact, for a
heavy shower now seemed advancing, with the sudden
rapidity not unusual after very warm weather; the position
of the bay, and a wooded bank having concealed its approach
until close at hand.
“We shall have a dead calm in ten minutes,” said de
Vaux; “I wish the Petrel was off.”
But still there seemed something going on in the garden;
the woman and Sam were very busy, and Charlie and Smith
had joined them.
“They must see the shower coming up by this time!”
exclaimed de Vaux.
“There will be a squall and a sharp one, too, ”added
Stebbins.
“The wind, which had prevailed steadily all the morning
in a light, sultry breeze from the south, was now dying
away; the sullen roll of distant thunder was heard, while
here and there a sudden flash burst from a nearer cloud.
“Thank Heaven, they are off at last!” cried de Vaux,
who was watching the schooner with some anxiety.
Harry and the two men were busy gathering together
under cover of the shanty, the different articles scattered
about, and among others Charlie's half-finished sketch.
The sun was now obscured; light, detached clouds, looking
heated and angry, were hurrying in advance with a low
flight, while the heavens were half-covered by the threatening
mass which came gathering in dark and heavy folds about
the island. Suddenly the great body of vapour which had
been hanging sullenly over the western horizon all the
morning, now set in motion by a fresh current of air, began
to rise with a slow movement, as if to meet the array advancing
so eagerly from the opposite direction; it came onward
steadily, with a higher and a wider sweep than the
mass which was pouring immediately over the little bay.
The landscape had hung out its storm-lights; the dark scowl
of the approaching gust fell alike on wood, beach, and
waters; the birds were wheeling about anxiously; the gulls
and other water-fowl flying lower and lower, nearer and
nearer to their favourite element; the land-birds hurrying
hither and thither, seeking shelter among their native branches.
But not a drop of rain had yet fallen; and the waves still
came rolling in upon the sands with the measured, lulling
sound of fair weather.
The air from the south revived for a moment, sweeping
in light, fitful puffs over the bay. Favoured by this last
flickering current of the morning's breeze, the Petrel had
succeeded in making her way half across the bay, though
returning less steadily than she had gone on her errand an
hour before.
“Give us another puff or two, and she will yet be here
before the squall,” said de Vaux.
The little schooner was now indeed within less than half
a mile of the wharf; but here at length the wind entirely
failed her, and she sat idly on the water. De Vaux was
watching her through the glass; there seemed to be some
little hesitation and contiusion on board; Sam, the boy, had
of the gust from the east came rustling through the wood,
making the young trees bend before it; then as it passed
over the water there was a minute's respite.
“How she dodges!—What are they about?” exclaimed
Harry.
“What do they mean?—Are they blind?—can't they see
the squall coming?” cried de Vaux in great anxiety, as he
watched the hesitation on board the Petrel.
“As my name is Nat Fisher, that nigger is drunk!—I
thought so this morning!” exclaimed the steward.
“And Smith and Hubbard know nothing of a boat!” cried
de Vaux, in despair.
The words had scarcely passed his lips before the wind
came rushing over the wood, in a sudden, furious blast,
bringing darker and heavier clouds, accompanied by quick,
vivid flashes of lightning, and sharp cracks of thunder; the
rain pouring down in torrents. It was with difficulty the
young men kept their footing on the end of the wharf, such
was the first fury of the gust; but they forgot themselves in
fears for their friends.
“Are they mad!” cried de Vaux, as he marked the uncertainty
of their movements; while the wind was sweeping
furiously over the darkened waters towards them.
A heavy sheet of rain, pouring in a flood from the clouds,
completely enveloped the party on the wharf; another second
and a shout was indistinctly heard amid the tumult of the
winds and waters; a lighter cloud passed over, the bay was
partially seen again; but neither the white sails of the Petrel
nor her buoyant form could be traced by the eager eyes on
the wharf. She had been struck by the gust and capsized.
“She is gone!” exclaimed de Vaux, with a cry of horror.
“Charlie can't swim!” cried Harry.
“Nor Bob, for certain,” said the steward. “I don't know
about the others.”
Three shots from a fowling-piece were rapidly fired, as a
to their friends on shore. The steward was instantly ordered
to run along the beach to the farthest point, and carry the
boat from there to the spot; it was a distance of more than two
miles by land, still de Vaux thought it best to be done; while
he himself and Stebbins seized another pair of oars, and set
off at full speed in the opposite direction, to the nearest point,
about a mile from the wharf, beyond which Stryker was
fishing with their own boat, Intending to carry her instantly
to the relief of the party in the schooner.
Harry thought of his friend; Charlie could not swim, he
himself was a remarkably good swimmer. It must be some
little time before either boat could reach the capsized schooner,
and in the interval, two at least of the four individuals in the
Petrel, were helpless and in imminent peril. The idea of
Charlie's danger decided his course; in a moment he had
cast off his clothes, and with Bruno at his side—a faithful
ally at such a moment—he had thrown himself into the
water, confident that he could swim the distance himself with
ease.
The next half-hour was one of fearful anxiety. The gust
still raged with sullen fury; the shower from eastward, collected
among the mists of the ocean, and the array from the
west, gathered amid the woods and marshes of the land, met
with a fierce shock on the shores of the Vineyard. The
thunder and lightning were unusually severe, several bolts
falling within a short distance about the bay; the rain pouring
down in a dense sheet, as the wind drove cloud after
cloud over the spot in its stormy flight. And amid this scene
of violence four human beings were struggling for life, while
their anxious friends were hurrying to their relief, with every
nerve alive. Frederick Smith was the first who rose after
the Petrel capsized; in another moment he saw the head of
the boy emerge from the water at a little distance; the lad
could swim, and both had soon gained the portion of the little
schooner's hull which was partially bare, though constantly
the spray Charlie's head; he knew that Hubbard could not
swim, and moved towards him with a cry of encouragement.
“Here!” replied the young painter; but he had disappeared
before Smith could reach him.
A fresh blast of wind, rain, and hail passed over the spot;
Smith moved about calling to Hubbard and the negro, but he
received no answer from either.
“There's one of them!” cried the boy eagerly; he swam
towards the object he had seen, but it proved to be only a
hat.
Both returned to the Petrel's side, watching as closely as
the violence of the wind and rain would permit. Not a
trace of the negro was seen; yet Smith thought he must
have risen to the surface at some point unobserved by them,
for he was a man of a large, corpulent body, more likely to
float than many others. A second time Smith was relieved
by seeing Charlie rise, but at a greater distance from the
Petrel's hull; a second time he strained every nerve to reach
him, but again the young man sunk beneath the waves.
A shout was now heard. “It is the boat!” said Smith, as
he answered the call. He was mistaken; it was Hazlehurst
who now approached, with Bruno at his side, guided by the
voices of Smith and the boy.
“Charlie!” cried Harry, as he made his way through the
water. “Charlie!” he repeated again.
“Hubbard has sunk twice, and the negro is gone!” cried
Smith.
“Come to the hull and take breath,” added Smith.
But just as he spoke, Harry had seen an arm left bare by
a passing wave; he made a desperate effort, reached the
spot, and seized Charlie's body, crying joyfull, “It is Hubbard;
I have him!—Charlie, do you know me?—Charlie,
speak but a word, my good fellow!”
But the young man had lost his consciousness; he returned
no answer either by look or word. Harry grasped his collar,
towards the Petrel's hull as rapidly as he could.
“Here Bruno, my noble dog! That's right, Smith, get
a firm hold on the schooner; we must draw him up, he has
fainted; but the boats must be here soon.”
Smith was following Hazlehurst's directions; but ere
Bruno had joined his master, Harry, now within a short distance
of the schooner, suddenly cried, “Help!”—and in
another second both he and Charlie had disappeared beneath
the water, in a manner as incomprehensible, as it was unexpected
and distressing to Smith.
“He's sunk!” cried the boy.
“How?—where? Surely he was not exhausted!
A howl burst from Bruno.
“Perhaps it's the cramp,” said the lad.
“Both sunk!—Hazlehurst too!” again exclaimed Smith,
as much amazed as he was distressed. He and the boy
threw themselves from the schooner's side again, looking
anxiously for some trace of Hazlehurst.
“Look sharp, my lad, as you would save a fellow-creature!”
“There's one of them!” cried the boy, and in another
instant he had caught Charlie by the hair. But not a trace
of Hazlehurst was seen since he first disappeared, and the
waters had closed so suddenly over him. Charlie was carried
to the Petrel's side; and while Smith and the lad were
endeavouring to raise him on the schooner, Bruno was
swimming hither and thither, howling piteously for his master.
A shout was now heard.
“The boat at last, thank Heaven!” cried Smith, returning
the call.
A minute passed; nothing was seen of Harry; Charlie
was raised entirely above water; when at length the Petrel's
boat dashed towards them, urged by all the strength of four
rowers.
“Hubbard!—Bob!” cried de Vaux, as the first glance
showed him that both Smith and the boy were safe.
“Hubbard is here, insensible — Bob gone — Hazlehurst
sunk, too!”
“Hazlehurst and Bob, too!—Merciful powers!” exclaimed
the party.
A hurried, eager search succeeded, as soon as Charlie,
with Smith and Sam, now somewhat exhausted by fatigue
and agitation, were taken on board. Hubbard was quite
insensible; young Van Horne, the physician, thought his
appearance unfavourable, but instantly resorted to every
means possible under the circumstances, with the hope of
restoring animation. Still nothing was seen of Harry; his
entire disappearance was quite incomprehensible.
“It must have been cramp; yet I never knew him have it,
and he is one of the best swimmers in the country!” said de
Vaux.
“He must have felt it coming, and had presence of mind
to loosen his hold of Hubbard at the same moment he cried
for help,” observed Smith.
Bruno was still swimming, now here, now there, encircling
the Petrel in wider or narrower reaches, howling from time
to time with a sound that went to the hearts of all who heard
him. Different objects floating about beguiled the party for
an instant with hope, but each time a few strokes of the oars
undeceived them.
Suddenly Bruno stopped within a short distance of the
Petrel, and dove; those in the boat watched him eagerly;
he rose with a sharp bark, calling them to the spot; then
dove again, rose with a howl, and for a third time disappeared
beneath the water. Convinced that he had found either
Harry or the negro, de Vaux threw off his coat and plunged
into the water, to examine the spot thoroughly. The dog
soon rose again with a rope in his mouth, pulling it with all
his strength, uttering at the same time a smothered cry. The
touched first one body, then another; but all his strength was
unequal to the task of raising either. After a hurried examination,
it was found that one body, that of the negro, was
entangled in a rope and thus held under water from the
first; while Harry's leg was firmly clenched in the dying
grip of Black Bob, who must have seized it as Hazlehurst
passed, and drawn him downward in that way.
In as short a time as possible, Hazlehurst and the negro
were placed in the boat by the side of Hubbard, who had
not yet showed any sign of life; every effort was made to
revive them by some of the party, while the others rowed
with all their strength towards the shore.
All watched the face of Van Horne, the young physician,
with the greatest anxiety, as he leaned first over one, then
over another, directing the labours of the rest.
“Surely there must be some hope!” cried de Vaux to him.
“We will leave no effort untried,” replied the other;
though he could not look sanguine.
The boat from the most distant point, rowed by the steward
and a boy from the farm-house, now joined them; and
those who could not be of use in assisting Van Horne, passed
into her, taking their oars, and towing the boat of the ill-fated
Petrel with her melancholy burden towards the beach.
Bruno could not be moved from his old master's side; it was
painful to see him crawling from one body to the other, with
as much watchfulness, as much grief, and almost as much
intelligence as the surviving friends; now crouching at the
cold feet of Hazlehurst, now licking the stiff hand, now
raising himself to gaze wistfully at the inanimate features of
the young man.
The shower was passing over; the rain soon ceased, the
clouds broke away, the sun burst again in full glory upon
the bay, the beach, the woods, throwing a brilliant bow over
the island. But three of those upon whom it had shone
the sands; while the mourning survivors were hanging in
heartfelt grief over the bodies of the two friends and the
negro sailor.
| CHAPTER XXI. Elinor Wyllys, or, The young folk of Longbridge | |