Before the second could be put off however, the water had reached the fires; there was a violent lurch, the ship had heeled completely over, washing many overboard, and of course causing a great confusion among those who had been steady before, and making the deck almost perpendicular. The captain, however, succeeded in lowering another boat, and putting into it, as he trusted, the few remaining women, the Bishop, and most of the men. This was, of course, that which had safely reached Corncastle, and of which he only now heard. The last boat was so overcrowded that he, with three of his crew, had thought it best to remain for the almost desperate chance of being picked up before they sank.

He had supposed Mr. Underwood had been washed overboard in the heeling over of the ship, and that his sister had been put into the first boat; but presently he heard a call.

“Oh, help me, please!” And he became aware that Sister Angela was hanging over her brother, who lay crushed by a heavy chest which had fallen on him, and thrown him against the gunwale, though a moan or two showed him to be still alive. The remaining sailors removed the weight, lifted him, and laid him in the best place and position they could, while his sister hung over him and supported his head. To Miller’s dismayed exclamation at finding a woman still on board, she replied—

“It was no fault of yours. I hid below. Other lives—the Bishop’s—were what mattered! I am glad to be here!”

He believed that Mr. Underwood had revived enough to know his sister, for he had heard her voice talking to him. Yes, and singing; but it was not for very long. The wreck was in motion, being carried by current and tide along the Channel, and if it did not sink, might be perceived now that daylight had come, and a signal of distress might be seen by some passing vessel.

Seen it was, in fact, and that there were persons to be rescued; and Blaine, who was on his way from Londonderry to Bristol, in the Muriel Ellen, a cattle-boat, possessed a boat in which to attempt a rescue.

All that experienced sailors could do in transferring the helpless and unconscious form to the boat first, and then to the sloop had been done; but it was no wonder that in the transit Angela, more heedful of her brother’s safety than her own, had fallen between, and been lost in the waves, to the extreme grief of Tom Blaine, who had been one of her scholars, and devoted to her, as all the boys of Vale Leston were.

The cattle-boat had few facilities for comfort, and all he could do was to let Mr. Bernard Underwood lie, as softly as could be contrived, on deck, and make sail for Ewmouth, so as to land him as near home as possible. How far he had been conscious it was impossible to say, though once he had asked for Angela, but had seemed to understand from an evasion, that she was missing, and had said no more, but muttered parts of these requests, as if afraid of not being capable of them.

All this had been told or implied, while messages came down that the surgeons did not think the injuries need be mortal, provided the exhaustion and exposure had not fatal consequences. The left arm, two ribs, and the leg had been broken, and were reduced before the doctors ventured on a hopeful report with which to send home the brother and sister. One sight, Clement was allowed of a more unconscious, but much less distressed face, and one murmur, “Noble! Phyllis!” and he was promised a telegram later in the day. The two hardly knew which to feel most; grief or thankfulness, the loss or the mercy, and yet—and yet—after the fitful, wayward, yet always devout life, with all its strains, there was a sense of wistful acceptance of such a close.

They felt it all the more deeply when, a day or two later, Bernard was able to say, at intervals, for the injury rendered speech difficult and almost dangerous, as Clement leant over him—

“Yes! I woke to see her face over me, all bright in wavy hair just as when we were children, and she said, ‘Bear! Bear! we are going together!’ Then somehow she tried to help me to trust for Phyllis and Lily.”

Then his voice sank, but presently he added, “There was more, but it is like a dream. She was singing in her own, own voice. There was ‘Lead, kindly Light!’ and when it came to ‘Angel faces smile’ there was a cry—quite glad—‘There! there on the water! Felix! Coming for us! Oh! and another One! Lord, into Thy hands.’ That is all I know—a kiss here, and ‘Yes! thanks! For me!’ But the lifting hurt so much that I lost all sense, when she must have fallen between the wreck and the boat. You are glad for her! Mine own! mine Angel!”

“Safe home!” said Clement. “Oh, thankworthy!”

Страница 62 из 65

Назад 1…61 62 63…65 Далее