Page:Once a Week Jul - Dec 1859.pdf/356

 October 22,  1859.]  COLDSTREAM. 346

can live  in  such,  a sea. Suddenly she  is  hailed from the  waters. “Ship a-hoy  1” shouts  a loud clear voice,  which  makes  itself  heard  above  the storm. “Throw me  a rope  or  a buoy  1” The life-buoy was  still  hanging  in  its  accustomed place by  the  mainmast. The captain  almost mechanically takes  it  down,  and  with  well-directed aim throws  it  within  a yard  or  two  of  the  swimmer. In a moment  it  is  under  his  arms,  and  in  half  a minute  he  is  on  board.

“Come on  board,  sir,”  he  says  to  the  captain, pulling one  of  his  wet  curls  professionally. The captain appeared  to  be  regarding  him  as  a visitor from the  lower  world; so,  turning  to  the  crew, he lifted  up  the  rope  he  had  brought  from  the shore. Then for  the  first  time  the  object  of  his mission flashed  upon  their  minds,  and  a desperate cheer broke  forth  from  all  hands,  instantly  re- echoed from the  shore. Then a strong  cable  is attached  to  the  small  rope  and  drawn  on  board — then a second — and  the  communication  is  com- plete. But no  time  is  to  be  lost,  for  the  stem shows signs  of  breaking-up,  and  there  is  a lady passenger. Whilst the  captain  is  planning  a sort of chair  in  which  she  might  be  moved,  Tyrawley lifts her  up  on  his  left  arm,  steadies  himself  with his right  by  the  upper  rope,  and  walks  along  the lower as  if  he  had  been  a dancer. He is  the  first on shore,  for  no  sailor  would  leave  till  the  lady was safe. But they  soon  follow,  and  in  five minutes the  ship  is  clear — five  minutes  more,  and no trace  of  her  is  left.

Ravelstoke Hall  has  been  aroused  by  the  news of the  wreck,  and  Mr.  Ravels toke  has  just  arrived with brandy  and  blankets. Him Tyrawley avoids; and, thinking  he  can  be  of  no  further  use, he betakes  himself  across  the  country  once  more, and by  the  aid  of  the  friendly  elm  regains  his chamber without  observation.

The lady,  whom  Tyrawley  had  deposited  in  a cottage,  with  a strong  recommendation  that  she should go  to  sleep  immediately,  was  soon  carried off in  triumph  by  Mr,  R&velstoke  to  the  Hall,  and welcomed by  Lady  Grace  at  half-past  three  in  the morning. There were  very  few  of  the  guests who slept  undisturbed  that  night. The unusual noise in  the  house  aroused  everybody,  and  many excursions were  made  in  unfinished  costume  to endeavour  to  ascertain  what  was  going  on. The excitement culminated  when  the  miscellaneous assemblage who  had  conducted  the  captain  and some of  the  crew  to  the  Hall,  after  being  well- supplied with  ale  and  stronger  liquids,  conceived that it  would  be  the  correct  thing  to  give  three cheers at  Hie  hour  of  half-past  five.

It was  then  that  Lord  Todmulton,  an  Irish peer, labouring  under  an  erroneous  impression that the  house  was  attacked,  was  discovered  on the  landing-place,  in  array  consisting  principally of a short  dressing-gown,  flannel-waistcoat,  and  a fowling-piece.

Breakfast that  morning  was  a desultory  meaL People finished,  and  talked  about  the  wreck,  and began again. It seemed  quite  impossible  to  obtain anything like  an  accurate  account  of  what  had taken place. At last  the  captain  appeared,  and though almost  overwhelmed  by  the  multiplicity  of questions,  nevertheless  between  the  intervals  of

broiled ham  and  coffee,  he  managed  to  elucidate matters a little.

Then came  the  question,  Who  was  it  who  swam out to  the  vessel. Tyrawley had  only  been  at Ravelstoke  a few  days,  and  was  a stranger  in  the neighbourhood. None of  the  servants  had  reached the coast  till  it  was  all  over,  so  there  had  been  no one  to  recognise  him.

“I scarcely  saw  him,”  said  the  captain,  “but he was  a dark  tallish  man,  with  a great  deal  of beard.”

“Was he  a gentleman?” asked  Miss  Constance Baynton, who  had  been  taking  a deep  interest  in the  whole  affair.

“Well, d’ye  see,  Miss,  I can’t  exactly  say,  for he hadn’t  much  on; but,  if  he  isn’t,  he’d  make  a good  one,  that  I’ll  go  bail  for. He’s the  coolest hand I ever  saw. Stay, now  I think  of  it,  I shouldn’t  wonder  if  he  was  a naval  man,  for  he pulled  his  fore-lock,  half-laughing-like,  and  said,

up.”
 * Come on  board,  sir,’  to  me,  when  we  pulled  him

“Perhaps it  was  Rutherford,”  said  Mr.  Ravel- stoke, naming the  lieutenant  in  the  navy,  “he  is tall  and  dark.”

“And he  has  been  letting  his  moustache  grow since he  came  on  shore,”  observed  a young  lady.

“Where is  he?”

But Mr.  Rutherford  was  gone  down  to  the  cliff to inspect  the  scene  of  the  disaster.

“Begging your  pardon,  sir,”  said  the  butler, “it could  not  have  been  any  gentleman  stopping in the  house,  for  the  door  was  fastened  till  the people came  down  to  tell  you  of  the  wreck.”

At thi«  moment  — half-past  ten,  A.M.  — Mr. Tyrawley  walked  into  the  breakfast-room. He was got  up,  if  possible,  more  elaborately  than usual.

“Now, here’s  a gentleman,  captain,  Mr.  Tyraw- ley, who has  been  all  over  the  world,  and  met with some  strange  adventures. I’ll be  bound  he never  saw  anything  to  equal  the  affair  of  last  night.”

“You’d a nearish  thing  of  it,  captain?”  inquired Tyrawley, speaking  very  slowly. His manner  and appearance quite  disarmed  any  suspicion  the  cap- tain might have  had  of  his  identity.

“Five minutes  more,  sir,  and  Davy  Jones’s locker would  have  held  us  all. Begging your pardon, Miss,”  apologising  to  Constance.

The captain  had  already  repeated  the  story  a reasonable  number  of  times,  and  was  anxious  to finish  his  breakfast. So Miss  Constance  gave  it all  for  the  benefit  of  Mr.  Tyrawley,  dressed  in  her own glowing  periods.

Tyrawley made  no  observation  upon  her  recital, but took  a third  egg.

“Well, Mr.  Tyrawley,”  said  she  at  last,  “what do you  think  of  the  man  who  swam  out  to  the wreck? ”

“Why, I think,  Miss  Baynton, — I think,”  said he hesitating,  “that  he  must  have  got  very  wet. And I sincerely  hope  he  won’t  catch  cold.”

There was  a general  laugh  at  this,  in  which  the captain joined; but  it  is  to  be  feared  that  Miss Constance stamped  her  pretty  little  foot  under the table.

Tyrawley turned,  and  began  to  talk  to  Miss Melliah, who  was  sitting  on  his  right.