Page:Once a Week, Series 1, Volume II Dec 1859 to June 1860.pdf/631

618 “Hardy weather, hardy weather, yer honer,” exclaimed Murtagh, ducking his head as he spoke, to avoid a sheet of foam that arched over the rocky parapet.

“Ay, ay, pilot; for the poor fellows outside, it’s rough and wild work indeed!”

“Troth, id just is what yer honer says,—wicked, wild, cruel work; an’ shure id makes one’s heart bleed for thim poor coasthers that’s sint to say in sich wild winthery weather, an’ wid vessels ill-found, wid ropes as ould and as rotten as haybands; short manned, too, the way they may bring long profits to their naygur-hearted owners; ay, in troth, yer honer, many is the brave-hearted stout sayman that has had to give in whin human nathur couldn’t stand agin hardships that id break a frame uv iron; an', eh Lord a mercy, sir dear! isn’t id cruel wringin’ to a sthrong man’s sperit, whin he finds himself in the pride uv his prime, an’ health and sthringth, sowld maybe to save a few fathoms uv rope or a few feet uv new plank; an’ hurryin’ on in the broad light uv day agin the tall cliffs that stan’ up like a tombstone forninst him, wid his white shroud bilin’ up an’ roarin’ all round him!”

“Sail ho! a sail, Misthur Moriarty! A sail, Murtagh jewel!” exclaimed two or three fishermen who had joined us.

We peered anxiously to seaward, and in the intervals of the drift and mist, just under the lofty cliffs, and almost within the broad belt of snowy breakers that foamed at their base, was a gallant ship under close-reefed topsails and courses, staggering under the pressure of the latter, as if carried on with a reckless desperation akin to despair, in order to extricate her from the fearful position into which over confidence or the thick haze of rain and surge had betrayed her.

“God be marciful! Bud by the living ”

Whatever else the old pilot would have said died upon his lips; a mighty wall of waters came rolling down upon the hapless bark just as she was about to clear the point of greatest danger; for a moment she wavered on her course, as though her helmsman was paralysed at the appalling peril; it was, however, for a moment only; again she lay over to the hurricane squall, until all her broad decks were visible; there was a great sheet of hissing surge boiling out from under her lee bow, which showed the tremendous velocity with which her desperate crew were forcing her through the broken water; gallantly, coolly, and with stern resolve she was held on that fearful course, as if gathering up her speed and her strength for the last great struggle to escape destruction. Already was the towering mass upon her, another moment and she would be rolled broadside on into that seething caldron, a mass of riven planks and timbers, the chaos of despair, of death! We held our breaths in torturing anticipation of what was to follow; already the cry of the strong swimmers in their agony seemed resounding in our ears; no mortal hand could help, no human aid could reach them. Suddenly her helm was put down; as she came up in the wind the thunder of her shivering canvas sounded like the knell of doom; she lifted buoyantly to the giant sea, rose upon its advancing crest, as if with the last great effort of exhausted strength, burst through the curling ridge of white foam, and, falling off on the other tack, disappeared from our fevered gaze in a column of spray-smoke, and rain-mist.

“Bravely done! Bravely and well done!” shouted old Moriarty, in intense excitement. “Ay—ay—by my sowl, the child that sails her is no chicken! He knows every shtick in her timper, too, or he’d never thry such a divil’s thrick as that wid her. If a rope yarn failed him, his sperit id be on the road to glory now. The Lord be praised for his marcy in sparin’ them! Ids down on ther knees they ought to be this blessed minit?”

“Th’er no sthrangers here any how, Murtagh!”

“Thrue for you, Billy Duncan, alanna, ay, indeed, that th’er not; here she comes now, squared away afore the wind; but my ould eyes are so mildewed wid the say dhrift, that I can’t make out what she is at all!”

“Whisht, boys, whisht! Spake aisy, can’t you? Ye’ll know what she is now. Don’t ye see who’s comin’ along the pier?”

All eyes were turned from the rapidly approaching vessel, in the direction indicated by the speaker. A tall and stately looking female was striding along the rugged causeway, heedless alike of the furious tempest or the pitiless peltings of rain and spray. She was clothed in garments of rusty black, which barely sufficed to cover her poor weak frame, much less to protect her from the inclemency of the elements. In the hard-drawn lines of her aged and care-worn features, could be traced the vestiges of early and wondrous beauty—the wreck of one of earth’s fairest flowers. A look of patient suffering strangely contrasted with the expression of her bright dark eyes, from which a baleful, almost ferocious, fire gleamed fitfully. Her hands were clasped with feverish energy, as if in earnest, ceaseless supplication: her gaze wandered not: it was fixed upon the approaching ship. She moved through pointed rocks, and across yawning chasms, like a being of another world. Ever and anon her lips moved, as if in prayer, yet she spoke to none, nor seemed to be aware of the presence of a human being. The moment she gained the lighthouse platform she knelt at its margin, lonely, sad, and weird looking, swaying her body backwards and forwards, her hands raised in prayer. Her voice now rose in incoherent murmurings, and anon died away; but the same intensely vengeful light gleamed ever from her eyes.

“Letty Blair, God help her!” exclaimed old Murtagh. “If I was Black Will Gardiner, I’d sooner my bones were washing under yon cliffs than face such a welkim as this afther every vy’ige!”

“For Heaven’s sake, Murtagh! what is the meaning of all this? Surely the poor creature must be mad: she will die from such exposure. Let us remove her to shelter and warmth.”

“Hist, yer honer, hist! it’s poor Letty Blair. She’s goin’ to curse Black Will Gardiner, the skipper of the Gipsy Bride.”

Meanwhile, the vessel which had caused all this excitement had drawn nigh, and her bowsprit now appeared as she rounded the pier end, in such close proximity that a man might have