Page:Once a Week June to Dec 1863.pdf/476

 466 though the gale was high, the gallant vessel rode the waves like a cork. She could buffet it out, with sea-room. Just then my eye rested on a line of breakers at the southern extremity of the island—a reef of dangerous sunken rocks, the “Grapples.” I could mark the black stones, coated with weed, showing their sharp points through the white froth of the waves. The hour had come! I went aft, and took the helm, ordering the steersman to go forward and take a pull at the weather-braces. The man hesitated: but I was a master to be obeyed, and he complied, though reluctantly. However, I was no unpractised helmsman, and for a while I steered as steadily as the sailor had done. I looked over my shoulder, then to left and right. The line of white foam tempted me, allured me. One glance at Lucy, as she cowered under the bulwarks, her hand in Langley’s, her eyes fixed on his face, so affrighted, yet so trusting—the die was cast.

Down went the helm! The brave vessel gave a leap like a frightened horse, and, swaying and swerving like a terrified thing, flew up into the wind. In a moment more she was darting, swift as a hawk, towards destruction. The cruel rocks were but a few cables’ length ahead. Hurrah! on; on. A cry of despair, a yell of execration, rose from the spectators, as the yacht neared the rocks, and I, the enemy of all, stood with flaming eyes and mocking smile, grasping the helm. The Heirloom! It glared in my eyes, it was stamped on my writhing features, lurid and menacing.

“Seize him! Down with him!” shouted Hemmings, his grey hair floating in the wind, as he rushed aft, followed by the crew. But, quick as thought, my right hand drew the hidden weapon from my bosom. Before the levelled pistol the sailors recoiled, with a cry of dismay, as if they had to deal with the archfiend in person. Steadily I stood, jamming down the spokes of the wheel, and firmly I covered them with the barrel of the revolver, while my eldritch laugh froze their very marrow. Ha! too late; too late! The Calypso gave a bound and shudder, rose upon a wave, crashed upon the hard rocks, rose again, and again struck. Rigging snapped, masts, broken like pipe-stems, went over the side; the sea leaped like a drove of white wolves upon the deck, hungry and howling for prey. And all were borne down and flung upon the dripping planks, all but myself. Clinging to the wheel, I stood fast. I laughed and hallooed, I yelled out taunts and threats; I shouted, and uttered aloud a defiance to the raging waves.

None dared approach me. But Death gaped for all, and the screams of the women were drowned by the noise of wind and waves. The boats! They had been washed away: small loss, for they could never have faced that dreadful surge. And now the Calypso was wedged between two rocks, and could move no more; but the waves lashed her, and threatened to tear her plank from plank. In my frenzy I shouted and cheered on the billows, as a huntsman his hounds. The sea washed clear over the deck. It was necessary to fasten the ladies to any woodwork or bolt that might keep them from being swept overboard. The seamen, encouraged by Hemmings, behaved well, but none dared venture where I stood, menacing and dangerous, pistol in hand.

There was a stir amidships; the bulwark had been shattered; the waves poured in like a flood, making the weakest cling desperately to their hold lest they should be sucked away by the retreating surge. I heard a faint scream, and something white went floating out on the wave as it rolled off, then sank. Lucy! I saw her pale fair face and streaming hair on the crest of the black wave. Stirred by an involuntary impulse, I sprang to save her: I—who had meant her to perish.

Another was quicker than I. His strong arm was round her, but the wave was too mighty, and both were hurried out into the boiling sea. Ha! yonder rises a human form out of the very jaws of death, clinging to the rock, but holding in a still firmer grasp something—an inert female form—Langley and Lucy again! Will not the sea devour them? He struggles hard; the sailors set up an exulting cheer; he will save her yet, and I have been cheated of the price for which I have sold my soul to the demon.

Grinding my teeth, I lifted my pistol to fire, but as I did so another huge wave washed me from my feet, and my weapon dropped upon the deck. I rose, holding to the bulwarks. The men cheered again. Harold Langley, bruised, wet, and bleeding, was standing on the stony beach beyond the reef, safe, and with Lucy at his feet.

And now our peril had been observed, and hardy men, fishers and quarrymen, came crowding down to the shore, and they set up a cry:

“The lifeboat! the lifeboat!”

I saw her. She came round the point, pulled gallantly by brave oarsmen, plunging, sinking, tossed hither and thither. My frenzy died away. I clung to the taffrail, weakly weeping, but not with fear. The lifeboat was thrice driven back to the beach, thrice she pushed boldly on. I saw Langley place Lucy in the kindly arms of an old sailor on the beach, and spring into the boat as she pushed off for the fourth effort. The lifeboat reached the Calypso. I heard the cries, the prayers, the incoherent words of gratitude to God and man for the timely rescue, and then my strained nerves gave way, and sense and memory left me.

When I recovered, I was in a darkened room, and in bed. I tried to lift my hand, but could not. My arms were bound to my sides. I cried and complained feebly, like a child in pain. Some one, a nurse, slipped out of the room. A grave, kind man in black, a physician, entered. He felt my pulse. He did not speak. I read in his eyes what had happened. The secret of the Heirloom was a secret no more.

They were married, as I have since heard,—Langley and Lucy Digby. What matter! I am dead to the world.

I write this in my calmer moments. I have times that are not calm—times of great anguish, fury, and bitter wrath. I should tear myself then, like the “possessed” of old days, but for