RECOLLECTIONS OF A WANDERER.
A scene on the coast of Cornwall.
A short time before my departure from the hamlet of Landwithiel,[4] I was awoke early one morning by the roaring of the wind in the huge old chimney of my room—the whole tenement, indeed, occasionally shook as a violent gust swept down the valley, tossing the branches of the stout old tree before the door to and fro in a way that threatened at last to level them with the dust. The very briny scent of the atmosphere convinced me there was some sea running in the bay; and it was the more unexpected as we had had no tokens of a storm for several days previous. From the peninsular situation of this county, surrounded on almost every side with the restless ocean and exposed to the wide sweep of the Atlantic, it may be supposed that storms are of frequent occurrence. As on the present occasion, they often come with little or no warning; and the effects of a hurricane in the distant main, far outstripping the wind, sometimes rolls with tremendous fury towards our western shores, on which the sea is encroaching in every part.
Landwithiel was a wild little place. It was essentially a "fishing village." The people ploughed the deep, not the land; and the constant exposure—blow high, blow low—on the restless sea, endued its inhabitants, and the Cornish fishermen generally, with a fearlessness of danger and boldness of character almost unequalled in these islands. The lives and pursuits of the two great classes in this county—the maritime and mining population—are widely opposite to each other. The one class pass their existence on the stormy waters of the deep, whilst the other labour far below the surface of the earth; each being continually exposed to numberless perils and dangers.
When I descended below I found my host already astir; so after attending well to the inward man, I lost no time in starting towards the harbour. As I formerly described, this comes abruptly in sight round a sharp angle, at some elevation from the beach. On the upper part of the descent the road was flanked on each side with a row of cottages, the street being so steep that steps were formed in many parts to aid the progress of the passenger. This gave an air of singularity and wildness to the place, which was aided by the boldness of the surrounding scenery. The street bore all the marks of the occupation of the inhabitants—nets hanging to dry—strings of fish—an old oar—or a "fisher's wife" broiling fish for her husband's breakfast—met the eye on either side.
On clearing the street, I observed a larger throng on the old pier than was wont to gather there on ordinary occasions. There was obviously some unusual subject of interest agitated amongst them; so I turned from my course and joined the group.
A gale is an important event in a fishing town. Independent of the interest naturally felt for the various craft belonging to the place which may happen to be afloat, there may be wrecks or other marine casualties to excite the interest or cupidity of the observer.
There was a tremendous tumbling sea rolling into the little bay, when I drew towards the pier. At the further end was a group of persons in earnest conversation, whom I distinguished as the knowing ones and long-heads of the place; while their younger companions were engaged in parties walking briskly to and fro on the pier. A tier of boats had been carefully drawn up high and dry beyond the wreck left by the last spring tide. Four or five, however, were afloat, and lurching heavily alongside the pier, whither the tide had not long reached; the wind rattling amongst the masts, shrouds, and half-bent sails of some craft which had just run in for shelter from the impending storm. My recent adventure had made me pretty well acquainted with most of the persons around: and I learned that a ground swell had been observed along shore the preceding night. This phenomenon is generally occasioned by a storm in the Atlantic, with a westerly wind; and it affords to the old fishermen an almost certain indication of approaching foul weather.
"A stiff bit of a gale, this same, Master Charles," said an old tar, giving an energetic jerk to his trousers, "Ay, ay, old boy," he replied, "this wind is not blowing for nothing, you may take my word for it; but if the Jane and the Susan hove in sight I'd not mind a bit for all that; we've not a stick afloat but her."
"What! is Sam Clovelly[5] out this morning, Helston?" I anxiously inquired of the pilot, who was a manly, excellent sort of fellow. He had grown grey with service, and there was something in the steady eye and calm decision of his look that marked him out as no common character.
"Yes, sir, we have no tidings of him yet, and the sky looking as black, yonder, as the face of a negro; but we'll hope that he's run out of harm's way before now."
As the morning waxed apace, the interest in the fate of the Jane and Susan became more evident amongst the by-standers. Every stick that came in sight cut out conversation; but many an eye was cast anxiously to windward in vain for poor Sam Clovelly and his brother Arthur, who had been out since the preceding night. Presently the two little orphan sisters of the missing men came upon the pier, and Helstone, the pilot, and some of the others anxiously endeavoured to cheer and console them.
"I'll be bound they've run for —— port long ago, darlings, so don't cry now, Jane; the old craft's stood many a stronger breeze than this; now, wipe your eyes, there. Poor things," he said, turning to me, as the children went farther on the pier, "their two brothers are the only friends they have got in the world, and if they are gone who is to take care of them? Their father, old Sam Clovelly, was lost—I recollect the time well—somewhere off Milford; leaving his wife, with two stiff tidy bits of lads, and likely to increase the family; well, sir, she took to her bed, with the shock, and never rose from it more, after giving birth to these two little girls, leaving poor Sam and Arthur to struggle on like a cutter in a heavy sea. But God Almighty never deserts the innocent, sir—you've seen that, I dare say? Sam's been a steady lad, and has prospered, and he and Arthur have never forgotten their mother's dying words, and have been very kind to their sisters; but, come what will, the orphans shall never want a friend as long as Charley Helston has a home or a bit of bread to offer them."
We now again reverted to the state of the day. As the gale swept on, numberless craft were running along the coast towards —— port, for shelter. A crack Fowey-man now making a board till she "eat out" of the wind a North-countryman right ahead—now with her helm-a-lea, and now careering along with a heavy following sea on either quarter—kept our attention on the alert. Presently a steamer came in sight bearing up across the bay towards —— Head. The white rush of steam from her safety-valves was well made out by the blackness of the windward horizon; and contrasted with the dense puffs of smoke from her funnel, which were instantly dispersed or carried in heavy patches to leeward. The glory of modern discoveries is unpopular with our coasting-seamen, and the mate of a coaster, who was watching her movements, observed that "we should not have a lad fit to hand a sail or man a yard soon with their cursed machinery."
As she passed on her course "cleaving blast and breaker right ahead," with her weather-wheel often spinning in the air, and as the sky darkened and the waves roared louder, I thought with deep interest on what might even now be the fate of those, without whose friendly aid I should have been lying on a rocky pillow and seaweed for my shroud, near Dawlish's Hole. The weather now became entitled to the formidable name of a storm, but some time had yet to elapse before darkness added its horrors to the scene of desolation.
Heavy masses of breakers were continually striking the pier-head with fearful crashes; now bursting over, amid seas of spray, with resistless impetuosity, drenching every one under its lee; now recoiling for a brief moment, as if to gather strength, leaving a smooth, hollow waste of oily sea—like the treacherous pauses of human passion,—and then returning with wilder haste and tenfold added fury to the onset.
The morning was waning away. I left the pier, and bent my course away from Landwithiel.
The path I pursued led along the summit of the cliffs; oftentimes winding so close round the edge of a projecting acclivity, that it required a clear head and a steady foot, for one false step would have been instant destruction. The coast below me was justly entitled to take its place amongst the finest rock-scenery in the island; and exhibited in its grandest form, the peculiarly wild and picturesque nature of the coast of Cornwall. After working my way against a head-wind for three or four miles, I took shelter in Dawlish's Watch Tower, an old half-ruined building, which commanded an almost boundless look-out. Nearly right opposite to this station lay the Wolf-stone, an insular, and almost inaccessible rock, which rose in deep water about three-quarters of a mile from land. Whilst scanning with my glass the windward horizon, I accidentally rested on this islet, and I had not looked long before my gaze was rivetted to it. Two individuals I fancied were standing near a pole which was erected on the highest point. These lone and unusual tenants of the sea-birds' home were obviously, from their motions, much agitated. A heavy driving shower, for a few minutes, wrapped it in mist. When this cleared off, the black and dreary front of the Wolf-stone became dimly visible through the tumultuous assemblage of gigantic breakers, that were every instant grappling with the steep which defied them. Another minute's observation and I was running at my utmost speed back to Landwithiel. The captives could be no other than Sam and Arthur Clovelly.
My arrival caused universal stir and interest in Landwithiel. The Dasher, the best sea-boat in the harbour was instantly manned, with directions to pull to Carn Cove, almost opposite the rock, whither the rest of the men rapidly proceeded along the heights. Helston and myself also went thither to consult in the first instance, as to the best plan for relief; for no boat could live, in such a day as this, within some distance of the rock.
The anxious group gathered on the edge of the cliff; and while a white flag was running up a boat's mast which we had erected on the tower, we cheered loudly and repeatedly to assure the distant captives that aid was nigh.
"It is Sam—God be praised," sang out Helston, who was steadily looking out through his glass—and every one crowded around. "And is Arthur there too, Charles?"—"Yes, I see.—Death! I thought that wave would sweep over all. Now they wave their neckcloths—they beckon us to use haste. High water is drawing fast on, and what man ever lived on the Wolfstone in a spring flood. They wave again; sing away there, my lads, cheerily!" and a tumultuous shout of human voices again mingled with the blast.
Almost every eye was now cast out for the Dasher, and she was seen pulling with great difficulty—for a handkerchief of canvass would have been madness—towards the shelter of a projecting mass of rock, in Carne Cove, in the comparatively smooth water behind which, Helston and myself were enabled with some difficulty to get aboard. It was a moment of some excitement. Accustomed from childhood fearlessly to brave an element they might truly call their own, the gallant little crew steadily seated themselves, and taking off their hats manfully answered the encouraging cheers from aloft. The men now shipped their oars, and all having been made snug, I seated myself in the stern-sheets, near Helston, who had taken the helm. There was something fine in his weather-beaten countenance, and grey hair streaming in the breeze, as he steadily scanned the dark masses of the distant Wolf-stone—he was a true seaman.
The Dasher was a boat that would live in almost any weather on this coast, head to wind; but when she was put about, there was no little danger of her being pooped in a heavy following sea. Ours was now the former case, and as the crew put her through the contending sea, which at every stroke hit our bows and soaked us with spray, I anxiously consulted with Helston on the best means of shipping the captives on making the Wolf-stone. Keeping his eye fixed on the rock, which was grimly visible on our larboard bow, he shook his head as the portentous darkness of the sky again claimed our attention. "If we had been delayed a quarter of an hour longer they would have been food for fishes;" I remarked, "but it will be close run; our men are doing all that strength and skill can do, but it avails little when opposed to such a power as this."
"Never fear, sir, we shall do yet—you are not so cool as I—how should you? when I have braved the storms of nearly sixty winters:—but the Wolf-stone's a spot, I will frankly confess, with which I had rather make acquaintance with a clearer sky and a flowing sheet, than on such a night as this. Just give a look-out a-head, sir," he added, as we were mounting a heavy sea, "and tell me how things are aloft on the rock."
However formidable this dreary steep might have appeared at a distance, now we were drawing near to it, the wildness and sublimity of the scene surpassed my calculations. The fugitives, who by their gestures were urging us onward, had been driven for shelter to a hollow on the leeward side of the rock, which indeed was almost the only spot that now afforded an asylum from danger. The waves as they came rolling onwards with aggravated force from the main, ever and anon burst against the isle with terrific violence, now breaking into gigantic masses, then driven in columns of sparkling spray to a vast height in the air, and now closing on every side around their victims. The isle, indeed, appeared to be menaced with total annihilation.
As we could now distinguish both the brothers, we instinctively cheered them on drawing towards the landward side of the rock. They were compelled every minute to crouch and cling to the cliff under which they had taken shelter, as a huge wave burst below their feet, and struck them in its upward violence. The Wolf-stone could no longer raise its head in dominion over the main. The surf ran so high immediately around it, that to approach at all closely would only have ended in the destruction of every soul. We, therefore, hailed them as we stood under its lee, and found that in consequence of their having remained almost all night on this dreary spot, drenched with wet, and chilled with cold, any effort to swim through the surf would probably be fatal in their exhausted state. What then remained to be done? We had ropes on board which would be of infinite service, could we only devise means to convey them to the rock. At this juncture, the services of my old Newfoundlander, Retriever, came forcibly to my mind. The poor animal had refused to be separated from me when we embarked, and lay at my feet in the boat. On his exertions therefore depended the lives of our friends. He soon understood the task he was to perform, and in another second was dashing onwards through the waves. An affecting scene now took place between the brothers, as to who should first avail himself of the approaching aid. A gigantic rush of tide, which almost swept entirely over the rock, told them, however, that time was precious. But Sam was firm. The younger brother then plunged forward and was soon drawn safely on board. He informed us, as Retriever again swam away with the rope, that he feared his brother was much more exhausted than himself. With breathless interest, therefore, we watched Sam tie the rope round his body, and enter the water. The violence of the gale, at this instant, compelled us to stand further off the rock; indeed, within a few minutes we foresaw that its presence would only be indicated by a low black mass indistinctly seen, amidst the boiling and restless waves of the ocean; an appearance, I was told, which it only presents in the most violent storms. Poor Sam, now seen, now lost, amid the foaming ridges of the sea, came gradually along till within about forty paces from the boat, when it was evident his strength had failed him. An arm was shot into the air, then his head and shoulders rose rapidly, and there was a sudden blank in the waters. "Pull away, my lads, for your lives," we shouted, "or he is gone!"
"It was a hard run thing, I reckon, sirs," said Mr. Habbakuk Sheepshanks, who was rather top-heavy that evening, to a numerous party who were assembled round his capacious hearth at the "Ship-aground," "but all's well, they say, that ends well, so we'll even drink the health of the brothers in a glass of the free genuine Cognac." "What is that you say!" said the exciseman....
VYVYAN.