Robert Michael Ballantyne
The Coxswain's Bride; also, Jack Frost and Sons; and, A Double Rescue
Story 1 – Chapter 10
Men in straits cannot afford to sit down to grieve and mope over their sorrows. Although a deep gloom had been cast over the shipwrecked party by the loss of one whom they had learned to respect, the urgent need of obtaining better food and shelter compelled them, as we have said, to give their whole mind and attention to this work.
They pitied poor Peggy sincerely, however, and endeavoured to comfort her a little by raising the hope that her husband might have merely lost himself in the woods of the island, and would yet, perhaps, be found alive and well. But, although their intentions were kindly, they could comfort neither Peggy nor themselves with such a hope; for their experience convinced them that the woods, although thick and tangled, were not extensive enough for any one to be permanently lost in them, and it seemed quite certain that if the lost man had not met with some fatal accident, he would certainly have made his way to the coast, by following which he could have easily found the camp.
“It is very sad to give over our search for poor Mitford,” said Dr Hayward one morning, while seated on a ledge of rock near the beach, taking counsel with his male companions as to the order of procedure for the day, “but we cannot afford to delay our operations longer. This poor fare of mussel soup, with such a small allowance of pork, is beginning to injure the health of our women, not to mention ourselves; besides, the pork won’t last long, even though we put ourselves on the shortest possible allowance; so I think that to-day we must go on an expedition after the seals we saw the last time we went to the southern end of the island. What say you, comrades?”
“All right, cap’n,” answered Massey. “You’ve only got to say the word. But who’s to stop at home to mind the camp-fire and the women?”
“I’m afraid,” returned Hayward, with a deprecatory smile, “that it’s your own turn, Bob. I would say that I’m sorry for you, were it not ungallant to pity a man for being condemned for a day to female society.”
The way in which the coxswain received this showed that he did not repine at his fate. He did not even object to O’Connor’s remark that, “Faix, he might consider himself the luckiest man o’ the lot!”
Accordingly, Massey remained at the camp while the doctor, Slag, O’Connor, Tomlin, and Jarring set out on a hunting expedition with two days’ cooked provisions in their wallets. The doctor and Tomlin armed themselves with spears, but Jarring and Slag preferred clubs.
“You see,” said the latter, “I’ve heard—though I can’t rightly say I’ve seed it done myself—that the seal-hunters o’ the north do their work wi’ clubs; so, if one man can kill a seal wi’ such a thing, I don’t see why another shouldn’t.”
And, truly, there was some reason for this covert boast; for Joe, besides possessing arms of prodigious power, had cut and shaped for himself a knotted club which might have suited the hand of Hercules himself.
It turned out that Bob Massey’s satisfaction at being left behind that day was not altogether the result of regard for female society. While he was sauntering back to the camp, after his comrades had left, he congratulated himself aloud on having at last a chance of making his experiment without being laughed at during the trial. “That is—if Nellie has got enough of line made.”
At that moment Nell was busy with the line in question, and at the same time doing her best to comfort Mrs Mitford—Mrs Hayward being engaged in preparing dinner; by no means a difficult duty, which the women undertook day about.
“Keep up your spirits, dear Peggy,” said Nell, in that sweet, cosy tone—if we may say so—which played such havoc in Bob’s bosom at the time when she was known as the coxswain’s bride. “I feel sure that your dear husband will return to us. No doubt, some sort o’ misfortune has come to him; but he’s such a sensible, handy man, is John, that I can’t help feelin’ he’ll come back to us; an’ when I feel anything very strongly, d’ee know, I’ve almost always found it come true. Do you believe in strong feelin’, Peggy?”
Poor Mrs Mitford, who had been sitting with her hands clasped in her lap, and an utterly woebegone expression on her pale face, raised her head with a troubled look on being thus directly appealed to.
“Believe in strong feelin’s, Nellie? I should just think I do. Not to mention my own feelin’s—which are so strong that I never felt nothink like ’em before—any one who has been married to my John must know well what st–strong—oh! no, I shall never see ’im again; dear Nellie, don’t tell me,” she said, beginning to cry. “I know—I know—”
“There, now—there’s a good soul. Don’t go off again. Look! D’ee know what this is for?”
As she spoke, Nellie held up a ball of what appeared to be twine, and her companion—whose mind resembled that of a child, in that it could be easily diverted—said no, she didn’t know what it was for, and that she, (Peggy), had seen her making it when the men were off excursioning, and had asked about it; and why didn’t she, (Nellie), relieve her curiosity before, upon the point, instead of waitin’ till now?
“Well, you see, Peggy,” replied her friend, with the confidential air of one who has a secret to tell, “my Bob has took it into his head to give his mates a surprise by fishin’ for albatrosses.”
“Lawks! Nellie, an’ that will give ’em a surprise!” interrupted Mrs Mitford, drying her eyes. “How ever can any man fish for a bird—unless, indeed, it goes under water an’ changes its nature, which no creetur can do; though, now I come to think of it, I have seen flyin’ fish, an’ so, perhaps, there may be albytresses, or other birds, that—”
“Hallo! Nellie, hard at the twine, lass? You’ve made about enough of it now,” cried our coxswain, entering the camp at that moment, sitting down beside his wife, and examining the ball of cord which she had been so busily spinning.
“I’m glad you think there’s enough, Bob, for I’ve come to the end o’ the stuff you gathered for me.”
“Plenty more where that came from, Nell; but there’s no need to gather more than enough; for enough, you know, is as good as a feast. Well, Peggy,” he added, turning to the poor woman, and patting her gently on the shoulder, “has Nell been tellin’ you what I’m goin’ to try?”
“She was beginnin’ to tell me, Mr Massey, when you came in, something about fishin’ for albytresses, an’ I always thought albytresses was birds, and—”
“Quite right, Peggy. See, this is how it is: you bait a hook—but come,” said the coxswain, rising suddenly, and taking up the ball of twine, “they do say example’s better than precept. Come along wi’ me an’ Nell, an’ we’ll show you how to do it.”
So saying, Massey led the two women down to the boat, telling Mrs Hayward, whom they passed on the way, to heave some more sticks on the fire, as it was getting low.
“Never fear,” said Eva, who carried the baling-dish full of shell-fish in her hands. “I shall never forget the fright we got that time Joe let it get so low that it was almost at the last spark. You won’t be long away, will you?”
“Not long. Anyhow, we’ll be sure to turn up for dinner.”
During their short residence on the island, the coxswain had observed that albatrosses paid them frequent visits. The giant birds had exhibited some signs of curiosity as to the doings of the new arrivals on the island; so he resolved to capture one of them, with a view to soup!
Embarking in the boat, he rowed towards a point of rocks jutting out into the sea, over which albatrosses had been seen hovering many times. On the way, Nellie, who had previously been taught what to do, fastened a small bit of wood to the end of the line she had spun. Hanging from this was a hook that the coxswain had made from a gull’s breast-bone. It was baited with a piece of pork. Before arriving at the point of rocks, they saw that an albatross was soaring over it on its mighty outspread wings. On observing the boat, it flew away and disappeared in the distance; but Bob was not much concerned about that.
“Now, Nell,” he said, on landing, “carry this bait out to sea as far as the line will let you, lay it on the water, an’ then pull back into yon cove, and see that you hide the boat an’ yourselves well, and keep quiet. You mustn’t even talk, Peggy! Yon fellow will soon be back.”
Nellie did exactly as she was directed; and then her husband, holding the shore-end of the line, concealed himself among the rocks.
He was right about the bird. Ere long, it was seen returning, and soon, on motionless, expanded wings, it hovered over the rocky point. Then it caught sight of the floating bait. With a majestic swoop, it dived, caught it up, and next moment was flouncing wildly about, hooked by the tongue, while Bob Massey hauled in the line. He had provided himself with a stick, and when the huge bird came within reach he felled it, to the immense delight of the watchers in the cove, who had already begun to smell savoury soup by anticipation!
While these were thus engaged, the sealing party was even more successful in the opposite direction. They had not gone half-a-dozen miles when they sighted a group of seals, sleeping—or sunning themselves—on a flat rock, near high-water mark.
“Now, then, Hercules, lead the way with your club,” said the doctor to Joe Slag, in a whisper. Joe at once shouldered his weapon and led the party round by some sheltering rocks, so as to get between the seals and the sea; then, rushing forward in a body, they took the creatures by surprise, and intercepted two of them. On coming to close quarters, however, they found that the seals were much more formidable to look at than anything that any of them had ever seen in the Arctic Seas; and when Joe brought his club down on the skull of the foremost with a terrible thwack, it refused to tumble over, but continued to splutter and flounder towards the sea. Dr Hayward, however, used his spear at this moment with such effect that the seal fell, and another blow from the Herculean club finished its career.
As this animal was about half-a-ton in weight, they left it on the beach with the intention of cutting off some steaks on their return, and sending the boat round afterwards to fetch the remainder of the carcass.
Considerably elated by their success, they pushed on. In a valley which led towards the interior hills they found fresh tracks of goats, and saw one of those animals in the distance. Rabbits were also seen, but none killed at that time. They had not gone far into this valley, when a most interesting discovery was made. On opening up a new turn in the valley they came on the ruins of a hut.
With feelings of profound interest, they entered—for there was no door to bar their progress—and gazed around on the silent, mouldering walls.
“Good luck!” exclaimed O’Connor, springing forward, and grasping an object which lay on the ground. It was a hatchet, covered with red rust. “Here is something else that will be useful,” said Tomlin, picking up a file, which was also covered with rust.
The party at once began an eager search in the hope of finding other things that might be of use to them, and they were not altogether disappointed; for Jarring found a clasp-knife—much rust-eaten, of course, but still fit for use. Slag found a much-battered frying-pan, and Tomlin discovered a large cast-iron pot behind the hut, with a chip out of its rim. A bottle was also found, and the party crowded round to watch while the doctor examined it.
“Gin, I hope,” said Jarring, in a low tone.
“Physic, I think,” murmured Slag.
“A paper!” exclaimed the doctor, holding it up to the light; then, breaking the bottle, he unfolded the paper, but much of the writing on it had been obliterated by water which had leaked in. The few sentences, however, that were more or less legible, conveyed the fact that a vessel had been wrecked on the island in 1848; that the crew had lived there eighteen months when a ship, chancing to pass that way, rescued them; that they had no provisions to leave for the use of unfortunates who might chance to be cast away there in future; and that there was a garden, with some vegetables in it, about—
Here the writing became quite illegible.
“Now, we must find that garden,” said the doctor, “and as we’ve not much daylight left, we must begin at once. Come along, lads.”
In half an hour they found the garden, with potatoes growing in it, and a few other roots that were new to them.
Rejoicing over their discoveries the party started back without delay for the camp, carrying the pot, the frying-pan, etcetera, along with them, and not forgetting a good slice of the seal in passing. Arriving late that night, they found Bob Massey and the women already enjoying a supper of albatross soup.
“Hooroo, Bob!” exclaimed O’Connor, flourishing the frying-pan in his excitement, “we’ve found some praties, boy! Shovel out some o’ that into this, honey, an’ I’ll soon let ye smell the smell of an Irish stew!”
Next day the party removed from the camp and took up their abode in the old hut, which was soon repaired sufficiently to keep out wind and rain, and the skin of the seal—with that of another killed next day—was large enough to screen off part of the hut as a separate chamber for the women.
From that time forward they had no lack of food, for they succeeded in killing plenty of seals, and in snaring a great many rabbits, though they failed entirely to kill any of the goats. And thus they lived for several months in comparative comfort, though suffering considerably from cold and bad weather.
During all that time the poor women were kept pretty busy cooking, looking after domestic matters, and mending the garments of the men. This last they accomplished by means of needles made from albatross bones and the finely divided sinews of various animals instead of thread. When the European garments were worn out—which they were, long before deliverance was sent to them—Nell Massey proved her fitness for a Robinson Crusoe life, by actually splitting the sealskins—which were as thick as sole leather—so as to obtain material thin enough for clothing.
Of course, a flagstaff had been among the first things erected. It stood on a prominent hill, and a seal-skin flag was hoisted thereon, to attract any vessel that might chance to pass that way, but the flag fluttered in vain, for, as we have said, the island lay far out of the usual track of commerce.
Although poor Mrs Mitford appeared to become resigned to her great loss as time passed by, it was evident to her kind-hearted female companions that she was not recovering from the shock she had received. In spite of their care of her she grew thinner and older-looking every day, and although she quietly took her share of the work, she had become sad and silent—caring little apparently for what was going on around her, and never indulging in those prolonged observations of an irrelevant nature to which she had been addicted before her husband’s disappearance.
Things were in this state when, about two months after their landing, a boat-voyage to the western cliffs of the island was arranged for purposes of further exploration.
Story 1 – Chapter 11
Within the dark recesses of a great cavern in the western cliffs, in the midst of a mass of wreckage, there sat one morning a man whose general appearance might have suggested to a beholder “the wild man of the cave”—or, at the least, an unhappy maniac—for his grey locks were long and unkempt, his eyes bloodshot and wild, his garments torn, so that his wasted limbs were exposed in numerous places, and his beard and moustache dishevelled and bristling.
No one looking at that gaunt creature—not even the mother who bore him—would have easily recognised John Mitford; yet it was he.
On the day when he mysteriously disappeared he had come upon a great hollow, or hole, of about sixty yards in diameter, which appeared to descend into the very depths of the earth. The sides of the hollow sloped towards the centre, and were covered with bushes. Noting this, our romantic friend resolved to explore the spot. He descended cautiously till he came to a place where the hole had narrowed to about twenty feet in diameter, and the herbage ceased because of the absence of the earth to sustain it. Filled with eager curiosity, the reckless man held on to a branch and stretched his head over the edge of the hole. He saw nothing but blackness. He soon felt something, however, for the branch suddenly broke off, and John went headlong down into that hole!
Then and there he would certainly have paid for his curiosity with his life, had not a mass of earth, a few feet further down, and against which he struck, broken his fall in some measure, and shunted him off to the opposite wall of the rock. This latter proved to be a slope so steep that it let him slide, like lightning, to the bottom, a depth of about thirty feet or more, where he was stopped with such violence that he lay stunned for a considerable time.
Recovering, he found that no bones were broken, and that, indeed, he was not much damaged considering the violence of the fall; but the satisfaction and thankfulness that this undoubtedly caused him were diminished by the fact that he was in total darkness, and at the bottom of a hole of unknown depth. A feeling of horror rushed over him at the thought of being thus, as it were, buried alive. Springing up, he felt all round the walls of his prison for some inequalities or projections by which he might climb out, but none such could he find. The place was like a well of not more than about ten feet wide, with smooth rocky sides, which were almost perpendicular as far up as he could reach. On looking upward, he could see the mouth of the hole, through which he had fallen, glimmering like a little star above him.
After a fruitless search of nearly half-an-hour the poor man sat down on a piece of fallen rock, over which he had stumbled several times in his search, and a deep groan burst from him as he began to realise the fact that escape from the place was impossible, and that a lingering death awaited him—for he could scarcely hope that his companions would find him in such a place. Hope, however, is hard to kill in the human breast. Perhaps they might hear him if he shouted. Immediately he began to shout for help with all the strength of his lungs. Then, as no answering shout came down from the little star above—at which he continuously gazed—a feeling of wild despair took possession of him, and he yelled and shrieked in mortal agony until his vocal chords refused to act, and nothing but a hoarse whisper passed his parched lips. Overcome at last, alike with horror and exhaustion, he fell to the ground and became partially unconscious.
How long he lay thus he could not tell; but, on recovering and looking up, he found that the star was gone—telling plainly that night had set in.
Then it was, when all hope of delivering himself, or of being delivered by others, had fled, that a word which had been uttered by Dr Hayward to a dying man on board the ship, leaped into John Mitford’s mind like a gleam of light. “Call upon Me in the time of trouble and I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify Me.” He had seen this invitation accepted by the dying man and deliverance obtained—if a happy smile and a triumphant gaze across the river of death were to be regarded as testimony. “But, then,” thought John Mitford, “that was spiritual deliverance. Here it is a hard physical fact, from which nothing short of a miracle can deliver me. No—it is impossible!”
Was it a voice within him, or an old memory, that immediately whispered the words, “With God all things are possible?” At all events, the poor man rose up slowly in a somewhat calmer frame of mind, and began once more to feel round the walls of his narrow prison. He found nothing mew, save that once he narrowly escaped falling down what seemed to be a still deeper hole among the fallen rocks already referred to. Then he lay down—or rather fell on the floor exhausted—and slept till morning. The fact that another day had begun was only ascertainable by the shining of the star-like mouth of the hole. He attempted again to shout, but found that his voice had left him, and that even if his comrades should return to the place he could not make them hear! In the fit of despair which followed he went round and round his living tomb like some wild beast in a cage. During one of these perambulations, he stumbled again over the fallen rocks, dropped into the hole behind them, and slid a few feet downwards, but not rapidly, for the slope was gradual, and it terminated on a flat floor. Looking cautiously round, on reaching this lower depth, he saw what appeared to be a faint light far beneath him, and considerably in advance of the spot where he stood, or rather to which he clung.
Gradually his mind calmed, and, resolving to make for this light, he groped his way downward. It was a long and wearisome scramble, involving many a slip and slide, and not a few falls, (for it was made, of course, in total darkness), and the distant light did not appear to become stronger or nearer. At last it seemed as though it were growing. Then John found himself on ground over which he could walk, guiding himself by touching perpendicular walls of rock on either side with his hands. It was a great split in the mountain, caused perhaps by those mighty subterranean forces, which some men recognise as volcanic action, whilst others, admitting—but passing beyond—second causes, recognise them as tools with which God is moulding this world according to His will.
“Strange!” thought the man, as he moved slowly forward. “Was this split made hundreds—perhaps thousands—of years ago, for the purpose of enabling me to escape?”
“Certainly not—absurd, presumptuous idea,” answered Unbelief, smartly.
“It was,” remarked Faith, slowly, “made, no doubt, for hundreds—it may be millions—of other purposes, but among these purposes the saving of your life was certainly in the mind of Him who ‘knows all things from the beginning,’ and with whom even the falling of a sparrow is a matter for consideration.”
We do not assert that John Mitford’s reasoning took the precise form of these words, for many minds can think somewhat profoundly without being able to express themselves clearly; but some such thoughts undoubtedly coursed through John’s mind, as he moved through that subterranean labyrinth, and finally emerged—through a narrow crack, not so large as an ordinary door—upon the inner margin of a stupendous cavern.
With a fervent “Thank God!” and a hopeful leap of the heart, the poor man beheld the waters of the sea rushing up to his very feet; and beyond the cave’s mouth lay the grand ocean itself, like a bright picture in a black frame. But what was that projecting from the water, not twenty yards from where he stood? The broken mast of a sunken wreck! Mitford’s heart almost stood still, for he became aware that he had made his way to the very cavern in which the ill-fated Lapwing had met her doom, and around him were masses of wreckage that had been washed up and thrown on the rocks at the inner end of the cave where he stood.
An involuntary shudder passed through the man’s frame as he glanced round expecting to see the dead bodies of his late shipmates. But nothing of the kind was visible, and the spars, masts, and other wreckage which had reached the rocks had been shattered into “matchwood” by frequent gales.
John Mitford now hastened in eager hope along the sides of the cave towards its mouth, intending to go out to the base of the cliffs, forgetting, in his eagerness, that the mouth could not be reached without a boat. He soon discovered this, and was then thrown into another fit of despair by remembering that he could not swim.
Oh! how bitterly he blamed himself for having neglected to acquire such a simple accomplishment. He might have learnt it when young, had he not been indifferent, or lazy about it. Often had he been advised to learn it by companions, but had treated the matter lightly and let the chance go by—and now, only fifty yards or so of deep water intervened between the end of the ledges of rock and the outside of the cavern, where he might perhaps find foothold enough to scramble along the base of the cliffs—but those fifty yards were equal to the Atlantic to him, he could not swim that distance to save his life. Once or twice, in a fit of desperation, he had almost plunged in to attempt it, and take his chance. Fortunately his courage failed. Had he taken the plunge his fate would no doubt have been sealed.
Returning to the inner end of the cave he searched among the wreckage for wood with which to make a raft, but it was so shattered that he found no pieces large enough to be thus used. He found, however, a barrel of pork and another of pease jammed into a crevice. These proved an immense relief to his feelings, for they secured him against absolute starvation, which he had begun to think stared him in the face.
From that time forward the unfortunate man made incessant and wild efforts to get out of the cave. He climbed and scrambled about until his clothes were almost torn off his back. He gathered the largest masses of wood he could find and tied them together in bundles until he had made something like a raft; but John was not a handy workman; his raft overturned the first time he tried it, and went to pieces, and he would have been drowned at that time if he had not been within grasping distance of the rocks. As it was, he got a fright which made him finally turn from that method of escape in despair.
Then the raw pork and hard pease tried him severely, and brought on a complaint which lasted a considerable time and greatly reduced his strength, but John was tough, and recovered—though not much more than the skeleton of his former self remained.
Thus he continued to exist in that cavern, during all the time that his wife and friends were mourning him as dead; and in this condition was he there seated on the morning in which this chapter opens.
“Weary, weary—desolation!” moaned the unfortunate man, lifting his head and gazing round with the air of one from whom all hope has long since departed.
It is said, or supposed, that when a spoke in Fortune’s wheel is at the lowest there must needs be a rise. Mitford’s experience at this time would seem to give ground for belief in the saying; for the word “desolation” had scarcely passed his lips, when distant voices of men were heard, causing his heart to bound violently. Next moment a boat glided in front of the cave’s mouth.
John Mitford sprang up and gave vent to a yell!
Hope raised to strong life after being long deferred; despair suddenly trampled in the dust; joy bounding as from the tomb into rampant being—and a host of indescribable sentiments and passions found vent in that tremendous, that inconceivable howl!
And its effect on those in the boat?—Well—
That morning our exploring party had resumed their voyage with somewhat saddened hearts, for they remembered the look of the coast well, and knew that an hour or so would bring them to the cave where the Lapwing had gone down. Even Black Ned had become sentimental, and given vent to a few expressions of a semi-religious nature!
“We can’t be far from it now,” said Dr Hayward, as the men ceased rowing, and the boat glided slowly, silently along.
“It’s a gruesome place,” remarked Black Ned, in a low voice.
“To think that so many lives were lost here—or hereabouts,” murmured Tomlin.
“An’ their ghost, maybe, hangin’ about!” suggested Slag, with a superstitious glance over his shoulder.
Just then Hayward bade O’Connor get up and stand in the bow with the boat-hook, ready to fend off,—an order which the Irishman, having been somewhat awed by the tone of the conversation, obeyed in silence.
It was at this point that they glided in front of the cave, and drew forth the yell which burst upon them like a clap of thunder. The shock to the nervous system of each was terrific. In the case of O’Connor it was visible, for he fell flat back into the bottom of the boat and fetched Jarring a tremendous whack on the head with the boat-hook in falling. Afterwards, Terrence asserted stoutly that a slip of the foot as he stood on the th’ort was the cause, but those who knew him best held that it was “a case of nerves.”
Need it be said that, on recovering nervous equilibrium, the joy of rescuers and rescued was intense?
“Come along, let’s take ’im home at wanst,” cried the Irishman, when they had got the poor dazed man into the boat. “Isn’t it Peggy that’ll open her eyes an’ screech for joy when she sots her eyes on ye!”
“We’ll have to wash and comb an’ clothe him first,” said Tomlin.
He did not say “shave,” for they had no razors,—and by that time the beards of most of the party were as long as Mitford’s; but their locks had been trimmed by means of a clasp-knife super-sharpened, whereas Mitford’s were in wildest disorder.
That night they encamped in the wreck-cave, made a fire, and prepared a splendid supper of pork and pea-soup for John and themselves, after which they subjected their recovered comrade to a scrubbing and cropping and repairing of habiliments that almost proved fatal to his constitution. Next day they loaded the boat with all the pork and pease they could find, as well as portions of cordage that might be useful. Then they started off on the return journey.
It was a fine day when they reached the encampment, where the coxswain and the women were on the look-out. Massey, of course, was the first to observe, as the boat approached, that an extra hand was in it; but he wisely said nothing at first. Then his heart began to beat as it used to do when he brought in rescued men and women from wrecks, for the truth suddenly flashed upon him. He glanced at Peggy. Poor thing, her sad eyes had wandered from the approaching boat and were resting wistfully on the horizon beyond.
