E-text prepared by Martin Robb
ORANGE AND GREEN:
A Tale of the Boyne and Limerick
by
G. A. Henty.
Contents
Preface. Chapter 1: A Shipwreck. Chapter 2: For James Or William. Chapter 3: The King In Ireland. Chapter 4: The Siege Of Derry. Chapter 5: The Relief Of Derry. Chapter 6: Dundalk. Chapter 7: The Coming Battle. Chapter 8: Boyne Water. Chapter 9: Pleasant Quarters. Chapter 10: A Cavalry Raid. Chapter 11: The First Siege Of Limerick. Chapter 12: Winter Quarters. Chapter 13: A Dangerous Mission. Chapter 14: Athlone. Chapter 15: A Fortunate Recognition. Chapter 16: Peace.
Preface.
The subject of Ireland is one which has, for some years, been a veryprominent one, and is likely, I fear, for some time yet to occupy a largeshare of public attention. The discontent, manifested in the troubles ofrecent years, has had its root in an old sense of grievance, for whichthere was, unhappily, only too abundant reason. The great proportion ofthe soil of Ireland was taken from the original owners, and handed overto Cromwell's followers, and for years the land that still remained inthe hands of Irishmen was subject to the covetousness of a party ofgreedy intriguers, who had sufficient influence to sway the proceedingsof government. The result was the rising of Ireland, nominally in defenceof the rights of King James, but really as an effort of despair on thepart of those who deemed their religion, their property, and even theirlives threatened, by the absolute ascendency of the Protestant party inthe government of the country. I have taken my information from a varietyof sources; but, as I wished you to see the matter from the Irish pointof view, I have drawn most largely from the history of those events byMr. O'Driscol, published sixty years ago. There is, however, but littledifference of opinion between Irish and English authors, as to thegeneral course of the war, or as to the atrocious conduct of William'sarmy of foreign mercenaries towards the people of Ireland.
G. A. Henty.
Chapter 1: A Shipwreck.
A few miles to the south of Bray Head, on the crest of a hill fallingsharply down to the sea, stood Castle Davenant, a conspicuous landmark tomariners skirting the coast on their way from Cork or Waterford to DublinBay. Castle Davenant it was called, although it had long since ceased tobe defensible; but when it was built by Sir Godfrey Davenant, who cameover with Strongbow, it was a place of strength. Strongbow's followersdid well for themselves. They had reckoned on hard fighting, but theIrish were too much divided among themselves to oppose any seriousresistance to the invaders. Strongbow had married the daughter of Dermid,Prince of Leinster, and at the death of that prince succeeded him, andthe greater portion of Leinster was soon divided among the knights andmen-at-arms who had followed his standard. Godfrey Davenant, who was afavourite of the earl, had no reason to be dissatisfied with his share,which consisted of a domain including many square miles of fertile land,stretching back from the seacoast.
Here for many generations his descendants lived, for the most part takingan active share in the wars and disturbances which, with scarcely aninterval of rest, agitated the country.
The castle had continued to deserve its name until forty years before thetime this story commences, when Cromwell's gunners had battered a breachin it, and left it a heap of smoking ruins. Walter Davenant had died,fighting to the last, in his own hall. At that time, the greater part ofhis estate was bestowed upon officers and soldiers in Cromwell's army,among whom no less than four million acres of Irish land were divided.
Had it not been that Walter Davenant's widow was an Englishwoman, and arelation of General Ireton, the whole of the estate would have gone; buthis influence was sufficient to secure for her the possession of theruins of her home, and a few hundred acres surrounding it. Fortunately,the dowry which Mrs. Davenant had brought her husband was untouched, anda new house was reared within the ruins of the castle, the new work beingdovetailed with the old.
The family now consisted of Mrs. Davenant, a lady sixty-eight years old;her son Fergus, who was, when Cromwell devastated the land, a child offive years; his wife Katherine, daughter of Lawrence McCarthy, a largelandowner near Cork; and their two sons, Walter, a lad of sixteen, andGodfrey, twelve years old.
Two miles west of the castle stood a square-built stone house, surroundedby solidly-constructed barns and outbuildings. This was the abode of oldZephaniah Whitefoot, the man upon whom had been bestowed the broad landsof Walter Davenant. Zephaniah had fought stoutly, as lieutenant in one ofCromwell's regiments of horse, and had always considered himself anill-treated man, because, although he had obtained all the most fertileportion of the Davenant estate, the old family were permitted to retainthe castle, and a few hundred acres by the sea.
He was one of those who contended that the Amalekites should be utterlydestroyed by the sword, and he considered that the retention of thecorner of their domains, by the Davenants, was a direct flying in theface of the providence who had given them into the hands of the faithful.Not that, had he obtained possession of the ruined castle, ZephaniahWhitefoot would have repaired it or set up his abode there. The followersof Cromwell had no eyes for the beautiful. They were too much in earnestto care aught for the amenities of life, and despised, as almost sinful,anything approximating to beauty, either in dress, person, orsurroundings. The houses that they reared, in this land of which they hadtaken possession, were bare to the point of ugliness, and their interiorwas as cold and hard as was the exterior. Everything was for use, nothingfor ornament. Scarce a flower was to be seen in their gardens, andlaughter was a sign of levity, to be sternly repressed.
Their isolation, in the midst of a hostile population, caused them noconcern whatever. They cared for no society or companionship, save thatof their own households, which they ruled with a rod of iron; and anoccasional gathering, for religious purposes, with the other settlers oftheir own faith. They regarded the Irish as Papists, doomed toeverlasting perdition, and indeed consigned to that fate all outsidetheir own narrow sect. Such a people could no more mix with thesurrounding population than oil with water. As a rule, they tilled asmuch ground in the immediate vicinity of their houses as they and theirfamilies could manage, and the rest of the land which had fallen intotheir possession they let, either for a money payment, or, more often,for a portion of the crops raised upon it, to such natives as werewilling to hold it on these terms.
The next generation had fallen away somewhat from their fathers'standards. It is not in human nature to stand such a strain as theirfamilies had been subjected to. There is an innate yearning for joy andhappiness, and even the sternest discipline cannot keep man forever inthe gloomy bonds of fanaticism. In most cases, the immediate descendantsof Cromwell's soldiers would gladly have made some sort of compromise,would have surrendered much of their outlying land to obtain secure andpeaceful possession of the rest, and would have emerged from the life ofgloomy seclusion, in which they found themselves; but no whisper of anysuch feeling as this would be heard in the household of ZephaniahWhitefoot, so long as he lived.
He was an old man now, but as hard, as gloomy, and as unlovable as he hadbeen when in his prime. His wife had died very many years before, of nodisease that Zephaniah or the doctor he called in could discover, but, infact, of utter weariness at the dull life of repression and gloom whichcrushed her down. Of a naturally meek and docile disposition, she hadsubmitted without murmuring to her husband's commands, and had, duringher whole married life, never shocked him so much as she did the daybefore her death, when, for the first time, she exhibited the possessionof an opinion of her own, by saying earnestly:
"You may say what
you like, Zephaniah, but I do think we were meant tohave some happiness and pleasure on earth. If we were intended to gothrough life without laughing, why should we be able to laugh? Oh, how Ishould like to hear one hearty, natural laugh again before I die, such asI used to hear when I was a girl!"
Jabez Whitefoot inherited his mother's docility of disposition, and, evenwhen he grew to middle age, never dreamt of disputing his father'sabsolute rule, and remained strictly neutral when his wife, the daughterof an old comrade of his father, settled a few miles away, fought stoutlyat times against his tyranny.
"You are less than a man, Jabez," she would say to him, indignantly, "toput up, at your age, with being lectured as if you were a child. Parentalobedience is all very well, and I hope I was always obedient to myfather; but when it comes to a body not being permitted to have a soul ofhis own, it is going too far. If you had told me that, when I became yourwife, I was to become the inmate of a dungeon for the rest of myexistence, I wouldn't have had you, not if you had been master of all thebroad lands of Leinster."
But, though unable to rouse her husband into making an effort for somesort of freedom, Hannah Whitefoot had battled more successfully in behalfof her son, John.
"You have had the management of your son, sir, and I will manage mine,"she said. "I will see that he does not grow up a reprobate or a Papist,but at least he shall grow up a man, and his life shall not be as hatefulas mine is, if I can help it."
Many battles had already been fought on this point, but in the end HannahWhitefoot triumphed. Although her husband never, himself, opposed hisfather's authority, he refused absolutely to use his own to compel hiswife to submission.
"You know, sir," he said, "you had your own way with my mother and me,and I say nothing for or against it. Hannah has other ideas. No one cansay that she is not a good woman, or that she fails in her duty to me.All people do not see life from the same point of view. She is just asconscientious, in her way, as you are in yours. She reads her Bible anddraws her own conclusions from it, just as you do; and as she is themother of the child, and as I know she will do her best for it, I shallnot interfere with her way of doing it."
And so Hannah won at last, and although, according to modern ideas, theboy's training would have been considered strict in the extreme, itdiffered very widely from that which his father had had before him.Sounds of laughter, such as never had been heard within the walls of thehouse, since Zephaniah laid stone upon stone, sometimes issued from theroom where Hannah and the child were together alone, and Zephaniah wasout with Jabez about the farm; and Hannah herself benefited, as much asdid the child, by her rebellion against the authorities. Jabez, too, wasconscious that home was brighter and pleasanter than it had been, andwhen Zephaniah burst into a torrent of indignation, when he discoveredthat the child had absolutely heard some fairy stories from its mother,Jabez said quietly:
"Father, I wish no dispute. I have been an obedient son to you, and willcontinue so to my life's end; but if you are not satisfied with thedoings of my wife, I will depart with her. There are plenty who will beglad to let me a piece of land; and if I only work there as hard as Iwork here, I shall assuredly be able to support her and my boy. So letthis be the last word between us."
This threat put an end to the struggle. Zephaniah had, like most of hisclass, a keen eye to the main chance, and could ill spare the services ofJabez and his thrifty and hard-working wife; and henceforth, except bypointed references, in the lengthy morning and evening prayers, to thebacksliding in his household, he held his peace.
Between the Castle and Zephaniah Whitefoot there had never been anyintercourse. The dowager Mrs. Davenant hated the Cromwellite occupier ofher estate, not only as a usurper, but as the representative of the manwho had slain her husband. She never alluded to his existence, and hadalways contrived, in her rides and walks, to avoid any point from whichshe could obtain so much as a distant view of the square, ugly housewhich formed a blot on the fair landscape. She still spoke of the estateas if it extended to its original boundaries, and ignored absolutely thevery existence of Zephaniah Whitefoot, and all that belonged to him. Butwhen her son and Jabez grew to man's estate, at about the same period,they necessarily at times crossed each other's paths; and as in them theprejudices and enmities of their elders were somewhat softened, theywould, when they met on the road, exchange a passing nod or a brief "Goodmorning."
Another generation still, and the boys of the two houses met as friends.Thanks to his mother's successful rebellion, John Whitefoot grew up ahearty, healthy boy, with a bright eye, a merry laugh, and a frank, openbearing.
"One would think," his grandfather remarked angrily one day, as the boywent out, whistling gaily, to fetch in a young colt Jabez was about tobreak, "that John was the son of a malignant, or one of the men ofCharles Stuart, rather than of a God-fearing tiller of the soil."
"So long as he fears God, and walks in the right way, he is none theworse for that, father," Jabez said stoutly; "and even you would hardlysay that his mother has failed in her teachings in that respect. I do notknow that, so long as one has the words of Scripture in his heart, he isany the better for having them always on his lips; in other respects, Iregret not that the boy should have a spirit and a fire which I know Ilack myself. Who can say what may yet take place here! The Stuarts areagain upon the throne, and, with James's leaning towards Papacy, there isno saying whether, some day, all the lands which Cromwell divided amonghis soldiers may not be restored to their original possessors, and inthat case our sons may have to make their way in other paths of life thanours; and, if it be so, John will assuredly be more likely to make hisway than I should have done."
"We would never surrender, save with our lives, what our swords have won.We will hold the inheritance which the Lord has given us," the old mansaid fiercely.
"Yes, father; and so said those whose lands we have inherited. So saidWalter Davenant, of whose lands we are possessed. It will be as God willsit. He has given to us the lands of others, and it may be that he willtake them away again. The times have changed, father, and the manners;and I am well pleased to see that John, while I am sure he is as true tothe faith as I am myself, will take broader and, perhaps, happier viewsof life than I have done."
Zephaniah gave a snort of displeasure. He grieved continually at theinfluence which his daughter-in-law exercised over her son, and which nowextended clearly to her husband; but Jabez was now a man offive-and-forty, and had lately shown that, in some respects at least, heintended to have his way, while Zephaniah himself, though still erect andstrong, was well-nigh eighty.
"Remember, Jabez," he said, "that it goes hard with those who, having settheir hands to the plough, turn aside."
"I shall not turn aside, father," Jabez said quietly. "I have gone toolong along a straight furrow to change now; but I am not ill pleased thatmy son should have a wider scope. I trust and believe that he will drivehis furrow as straight as we have done, although it may not be exactly inthe same line."
But neither Zephaniah nor old Mrs. Davenant knew that their respectivegrandsons had made friends, although both the boys' fathers knew, andapproved of it, although for somewhat different reasons.
"The Whitefoot boy," Mr. Davenant had said to his wife, "is, I fancy fromwhat I have seen of him, of a different type to his father andgrandfather. I met him the other day when I was out, and he spoke asnaturally and outspokenly as Walter himself. He seems to have got rid ofthe Puritanical twang altogether. At any rate, he will do Walter no harm;and, indeed, I should say that there was a solid good sense about him,which will do Master Walter, who is somewhat disposed to be a madcap,much good. Anyhow, he is a better companion for the boy than the ladsdown in the village; and there is no saying, wife, how matters may go inthis unhappy country. It may be that we may come to our own again. It maybe that we may lose what is left to us. Anyhow, it can do no harm toWalter that he should have, as a friend, one in the opposite camp."
Somewhat similar was the talk between Hannah and
Jabez, although, intheir case, the wife was the speaker.
"John has told me, Jabez, that he has several times met young Davenant,and that the boy is disposed to be friendly with him; and he has asked meto speak with you, to know whether you have any objection to his making afriend of him."
"What do you say, Hannah?" Jabez asked cautiously. "My father, I fear,would not approve of it."
"Your father need know nothing about it, Jabez. He is an old man and agood man, but he clings to the ways of his youth, and deems that thingsare still as they were when he rode behind Cromwell. I would not deceivehim did he ask; but I do not see that the matter need be mentioned in hispresence. It seems to me that it will be good for John to be friends withthis boy. He is almost without companionship. We have acquaintance, it istrue, among the other settlers of our faith, but such companionship as hehas there will not open his mind or broaden his views. We are dull peoplehere for a lad. Had we had other children it might have been different.
"I have heard my mother speak of her life as a girl, in England, andassuredly it was brighter and more varied than ours; and it seems not tome that the pleasures which they had were sinful, although I have beentaught otherwise; but, as I read my Bible, I cannot see that innocentpleasures are in any way denied to the Lord's people; and such pleasureas the companionship of the young Davenant can give John will, I think,be altogether for his good."
"But the lad is a Papist, Hannah."
"He is, Jabez; but boys, methinks, do not argue among themselves uponpoints of doctrine; and I have no fear that John will ever be led fromthe right path, nor indeed, though it is presumption for a woman to sayso, do I feel so sure as our ministers that ours is the only path toheaven. We believe firmly that it is the best path, but others believe asfirmly in their paths; and I cannot think, Jabez, that all mankind, savethose who are within the fold of our church, can be condemned by the goodLord to perdition."
"Your words are bold, Hannah, and I know not what my father and theelders of the church would say, were they to hear them. As to that I willnot argue, but methinks that you are right in saying that thecompanionship of the young Davenant will do our boy no harm.
"But the lad must have his father's consent. Though I reckon that wecould count pounds where they could count shillings, yet, in the opinionof the world, they assuredly stand above us. Moreover, as it is only inhuman nature that they should regard us as those who have despoiled them,John must have no dealings with their son without their consent. If thatbe given, I have nought to say against it."
And so John told Walter, next time they met, and learned in reply thatWalter had already obtained his father's consent to going out rambleswith him; so the boys became companions and friends, and each benefitedby it. To John, the bright, careless ease and gaiety of Walter's talk andmanner were, at first, strange indeed, after the restraint and gloom ofhis home; but in time he caught something of his companion's tone, until,as has been said, his altered manner and bearing struck and annoyed hisgrandfather.
On the other hand, the earnestness and solidity of John's character was ofbenefit to Walter; and his simple truthfulness, the straightforwardness ofhis principles, and his blunt frankness in saying exactly what he thought,influenced Walter to quite as large an extent as he had influenced John.
So the companionship between the lads had gone on for two years. In fineweather they had met once or twice a week, and had taken long ramblestogether, or, throwing themselves down on the slopes facing the sea, hadtalked over subjects of mutual interest. Walter's education was far inadvance of that of his companion, whose reading, indeed, had beenconfined to the Scriptures, and the works of divines andcontroversialists of his own church, and whose acquirements did notextend beyond the most elementary subjects.
To him, everything that Walter knew was novel and strange; and he eagerlydevoured, after receiving permission from his mother, the books whichWalter lent him, principally histories, travels, and the works of Miltonand Shakespeare. As to the latter, Hannah had at first some scruples; andit was only after setting herself, with great misgivings as to thelawfulness of the act, to peruse the book, that she suffered her son toread it. The volume only contained some ten of Shakespeare's plays; andHannah, on handing the book to her son, said:
"I do not pretend, John, to understand all that is written there, but Icannot see that there is evil in it. There are assuredly many noblethoughts, and much worldly wisdom. Did I think that your life would bepassed here, I should say that it were better for you not to read a bookwhich gives a picture of a life so different from what yours would be;but none can say what your lot may be. And, although I have heard muchabout the wickedness of the stage, I can see no line in this book whichcould do harm to you. I do not see it can do you much good, John, butneither do I see that it can do you any harm; therefore, if you have setyour mind on it, read it, my boy."
It was a stormy evening in the first week of November, 1688. The wind wasblowing in fierce gusts, making every door and casement quiver inDavenant Castle, while, between the gusts, the sound of the deep roar ofthe sea on the rocks far below could be plainly heard. Mrs. Davenant wassitting in a high-backed chair, on one side of the great fireplace, inwhich a pile of logs was blazing. Her son had just laid down a book,which he could no longer see to read, while her daughter-in-law wasindustriously knitting. Walter was wandering restlessly between the fireand the window, looking out at the flying clouds, through which the moonoccasionally struggled.
"Do sit down, Walter," his mother said at last. "You certainly are themost restless creature I ever saw."
"Not always, mother; but I cannot help wondering about that ship we sawdown the coast, making for the bay. She was about ten miles out, andseemed to be keeping her course when I saw her last, half an hour ago;but I can see, by the clouds, that the wind has drawn round more to thenorth, and I doubt much whether she will be able to gain the bay."
"In that case, Walter," his father said, "if her captain knows hisbusiness, he will wear round and run down for Waterford.
"I agree with you," he continued, after walking to the window andwatching the clouds, "that a vessel coming from the south will hardlyweather Bray Head, with this wind."
He had scarcely spoken when the door opened, and one of the servantsentered.
"Your honour, a boy has just come up from the village. He says that JohnConsidine sent him to tell you that a large ship is driving in to shore,and that he thinks she will strike not far from the village."
"Why, on earth," Mr. Davenant exclaimed, "doesn't he tack and stand outto sea!"
"The boy says her foremast is gone, and they have lost all management ofher."
"In that case, God help them! There is little chance for them on thisrocky coast. However, I will go down at once, and see if anything can bedone.
"Katherine, do you see that there are plenty of hot blankets ready, incase any of the poor fellows are washed ashore. I shall, of course, sendthem up here.
"I suppose, Walter, you will come down with me."
But Walter had already disappeared, having slipped off as soon as he hadheard the message.
"Don't let that boy get into mischief, Fergus," old Mrs. Davenant said.
"I am afraid, mother, he is beyond me," her son said, with a smile. "NoDavenant yet could ever keep out of mischief, and Walter is no exception.However, fortunately for us, we generally get out of scrapes as easily aswe get into them."
"Not always, Fergus," she said, shaking her head.
"No, not always, mother; but exceptions, you know, prove the rule."
"Well, Godfrey, do you want to go?" he asked the younger boy, who hadrisen from the table, and was looking eagerly at him. "Of course you do;but, mind, you must keep close to me.
"Ah, Father John!" he broke off, as an ecclesiastic, muffled up to thethroat in wrappings, entered the room. "Are you going down, too?"
"Assuredly I am, Fergus. You don't think a trifle of wind would keep mefrom doing my duty?"
In anot
her two minutes, the two men and Godfrey sallied out. Theystaggered as the wind struck them, and Godfrey clung to his father's arm.Not a word was spoken as they made their way down the steep descent tothe village, which consisted of about a dozen fishermen's huts. Indeed,speaking would have been useless, for no word would have been heard abovethe howling of the storm.
The vessel was visible to them, as they made their way down the hill. Shewas a complete wreck. The light of the moon was sufficient for them tosee that she had, as the boy said, lost her foremast. Her sails were inribbons, and she was labouring heavily in the sea, each wave that struckher breaking over her bows and sweeping along her deck. There was no hopefor her. She could neither tack nor wear, and no anchor would hold for amoment on that rocky bottom, in such a sea.
On reaching the village, they joined a group of fishermen who werestanding under the shelter of the end of a cottage.
"Can nothing be done, Considine?" Mr. Davenant shouted, in the ear of oneof the fishermen.
"Not a thing, yer honour. She has just let drop one of her anchors."
"But they could not hope it would hold there," Mr. Davenant said.
"Not they, your honour, onless they were mad. They hoped it would houltso as to bring her head round; but the cable went, as soon as the straincame. I saw her head go sharp up to the wind, and then fall off again;not that it would have made much difference in the end, though it wouldhave given them half an hour longer of life."
"Could we get a boat off with a line, if she strikes?"
"Look at the sea, yer honour. Mr. Walter has been asking us; but there'sno boat could get through that surf, not if all Ireland dipinded on it."
"Where is Walter?"
"Sure and I can't tell ye, yer honour. He was here a few minutes since;but what's come of him is more nor I can tell ye."
"He went off with Larry Doolan," a boy, who was standing next to thefisherman, shouted.
"Then, as sure as fate, they are up to some mischief," Mr. Davenant said."Walter is bad enough by himself, but with Larry to help him, it wouldtake a regiment to look after them."
"They can't be in much mischief tonight, yer honour," the fisherman said.
"Look, sir, she's coming in fast. She draws a power of water, and shewill strike in a minute or two."
"She seems crowded with men. Can nothing be done to help them?" thepriest asked.
"Nothing, your reverence. Praying for them is the only thing that canhelp the poor sowls now."
"You are sure it's not possible to launch a boat, Considine?"
"Look for yourself, yer honour. There's not a boat on the coast thatcould get through them breakers."
"There she goes."
Even above the noise of the storm, a loud cry was heard, and the crash ofbreaking timber as, with the shock, the main and mizzen masts, weakenedby the loss of the foremast, went over the sides. The next great wavedrove the vessel forward two or three fathoms.
"That's her last move," Considine said. "The rocks will be through herbottom, now."
"They are off," a boy shouted, running up.
"Who are off?" Considine asked.
"The young squire and Larry Doolan."
"Off where?" Mr. Davenant exclaimed.
"Off in the curragh, yer honour. Me and Tim Connolly helped them carry itround the Nose, and they launched her there. There they are. Sure you cansee them for yourself."
The party rushed out from the shelter, and there, a quarter of a milealong on the right, a small boat was seen, making its way over the waves.
"Be jabers, yer honour, and they have done it," the boatmen said, as Mr.Davenant gave a cry of alarm.
"I didn't think of the curragh, and if I had, she could not have beenlaunched here. Mr. Walter has hit on the only place where there was achance. Under the shelter of the Nose it might be done, but nowhereelse."
The Nose was a formidable reef of rocks, running off from a point andtrending to the south. Many a ship had gone ashore on its jagged edge,but, with the wind from the northeast, it formed somewhat of a shelter,and it was under its lee that Walter and Larry had launched the curragh.
The curragh is still found on the Irish coast. It is a boat whosegreatest width is at the stern, so much so that it looks like a boat cutin two. The floor is almost flat, and rises so much to the bow that threeor four feet are entirely out of water. They are roughly built, and by nomeans fast, but they are wonderfully good sea boats, for their size, andcan live in seas which would swamp a boat of ordinary build.
Walter had, with the assistance of Larry Doolan, built this boat forgoing out fishing. It was extremely light, being a mere framework coveredwith tarred canvas. As soon as Walter had reached the village, and foundthat the fishermen considered that no boat could possibly be put out, hehad found and held a consultation with Larry.
"Do you think the curragh could go out, Larry?"
"Not she, yer honour. She would just be broke up like an eggshell withthem breakers."
"But she might float, if we got beyond them, Larry."
"She might that," Larry agreed, "seeing how light she is."
"Well, will you go with me, Larry?"
"Sure and I would go anywhere with yer honour, but she could never getout."
"I am thinking, Larry, that if we carry her along beyond the Nose, wemight find it calmer there."
"Well, we might," Larry agreed. "At any rate, we can try."
So, calling together two or three other boys, they had lifted the lightboat and carried it with its oars along the shore, until they got beyondthe Nose; but even here, it was a formidable business to launch her, for,although the rocks broke the full force of the seas, throwing the sprayhundreds of feet up in the air, the waves poured through the intervals,and dashed over the lower rocks in such masses that formidable wavesrolled in to the shore.
After much consultation, the boys agreed that their best plan was toscramble out on the rocks as far as possible, so as to launch the boatbeyond the break of the surf.
It was a hazardous enterprise, and the whole party were, several times,nearly washed into the water as they struggled out. At last, they reacheda spot beyond which they could go no farther, as a deep passage was herebroken in the rock. But they were now beyond the line of breakers.
After several vain efforts to launch the boat, in each of which shenarrowly escaped destruction, they agreed that the only plan was, after awave passed, to drop her on to a flat rock, which then showed above thewater, and to jump into her.
The two boys on shore were to hold the head rope, to prevent her beingdashed towards the land by the next wave, while Larry worked with theoars to get her away from the ridge. The moment the wave had passed underthem, the head rope was to be thrown off.
This plan was carried out. The two boys had but just time to jump intothe boat and get out their oars, when the next wave lifted the boat highon its crest. The lads holding the rope were nearly torn from the rock,but they held on till the strain ceased, then they threw in the rope, andWalter and Larry bent to their oars.
"Row easy, Larry," Walter said, as the next wave passed under them, "andput her head to each wave."
Terrible as was the sea, the curragh floated buoyantly over it, thoughseveral times, as she rose to the steep waves, Walter thought that shewould be thrown right over. The worst part of their task was over, whenthey got beyond the end of the Nose, for up to that point they wereforced to row across the course of the waves, and continually to turn theboat, to face the great masses of water which ran between the rocks. Butonce beyond the end of the reef they turned her head north, and rowedstraight towards the ship.
"She has struck, Master Walter," Larry said, glancing over his shoulder,"and her masts are gone."
"Lay out, then, Larry, there's no time to lose."
But, in spite of their efforts, the boat moved but slowly through thewater, for the wind caught her high bow with such force that, at times,it needed all their strength and skill to keep her head straight. At lastthey w
ere close to the ship, which already showed signs of breaking up.They ranged up alongside of it.
"Fasten a line to a keg and throw it in," Walter shouted.
In a minute, a keg was thrown overboard with a line attached. As soon asit drifted a little way from the vessel's side, they hauled it into theboat.
"Now, back, Larry; these waves would sink us in a moment, if we turn ourstern to them."
The wreck lay within a hundred yards of the shore, and the boat backeduntil close to the line where the waves toppled over in a torrent offoam.
"Now, Larry, keep her steady. We are as near as we dare go."
Then Walter stood up in the boat, took the keg and a foot or two of linein his hand, and waited till the next wave passed under the boat. Heswung the keg round his head, and hurled it towards the shore. Then hedropped into his seat, and gave two or three vigorous strokes, and, whensafely beyond the line of breakers, sat quiet and watched the result.
"They have missed it the first time," he said. "Look! They are going torun into the surf for it."
The group on the shore joined hands, and the next time the keg was borneforward, in the tumble of foam, Considine ran forward and seized it. Theback rush took him from his feet, but the others held on, and before thenext wave came, the line was safely on the beach. A strong cable was soonpulled ashore and firmly fixed. A light line was attached to it, and thesailors at once began to pass along.
"Shall we turn back now, Master Walter?"
"We will keep near the wreck for a few minutes longer, Larry. She can'thold together long, and maybe we can pick somebody up."
The vessel was indeed breaking up fast. Her stern was burst in, and thewaves, as they poured in at the opening, smashed up the deck. Many of thecrew had been washed overboard, and had instantly disappeared.
As the boat approached the wreck, an officer, who had climbed theshrouds, shouted out:
"Will your boat hold another?"
"Yes," Walter shouted back. "She will hold two more."
"I will try and swim to you," the officer said.
He threw off the long cloak, in which he was wrapped, and unbuckled hissword and let it drop, unbuttoned and took off his military coat, and,with some difficulty, got rid of his high boots.
"Can you come a bit nearer?" he shouted.
"We daren't," Walter said. "A touch from one of those floating timberswould send us to the bottom."
The officer waved his hand, and then sprang head foremost into the sea.So long was he in the water, that Walter began to think he must havestruck against something, and was not coming up again; when suddenly heappeared, within twenty yards of the boat. They rowed towards him,instantly.
"You must get in over the stern," Walter said.
The officer was perfectly cool, and, placing his hands on the stern, drewhimself partly over it, and Walter, grasping his hand, dragged him in. Nosooner was he in, than Walter again hailed the wreck.
"We can carry one more."
But those who were still on board were huddled up in the bow, waitingtheir turn for the rope.
"There is a big un coming now," Larry exclaimed. "That will finish her."
A wave, towering far above its fellows, was indeed approaching. Higherand higher it rose. There was a wild cry from the wreck as it surged overit. When it had passed, the sea was covered with floating timbers, butthe vessel was gone.
"We can do nothing now," Walter said. "We daren't go in among thatwreckage, and any who get hold of floating planks will drift ashore.
"Now, Larry, back quietly, and let her drift down round the Nose. We mustkeep her head to the waves."
Ten minutes, and they were abreast of the reef. As soon as they were pastit, Walter gave the word, and they rowed along, under its shelter, to thepoint where they had embarked.
"Now, sir," Walter said, "we will back her up to that rock. When we areclose enough, you must jump."
This was safely accomplished.
"Now, Larry, row alongside when the next wave comes. We must bothscramble out as well as we can."
But by this time help was at hand. The boat had been anxiously watchedfrom the shore, and when, on the disappearance of the wreck, she was seento be making her way back to the Nose, Mr. Davenant, with Considine andthe priest, and the boys who had assisted in getting her afloat, hurriedalong the shore to meet her, the rest of the fishermen remaining behind,to aid any who might be washed up from the wreck.
As soon as it was seen that they intended to land at the spot where theyhad started, Considine and Mr. Davenant made their way along the rock,and joined the officer just as he leapt ashore. The boat came alongsideon the top of the wave, and as this sank it grazed the rock and capsized,but Walter and Larry grasped the hands stretched out to them, and werehauled on to the rock, while the next wave dashed the curragh infragments on the beach.