"Come, my lads!" said he, "the gale freshens every minute; let us get afloat, or we shall scarcely reach the ship before nightfall."
The sailors hurried the water-casks and store of fruit into the boat, and launched her among the breakers. With infinite toil, they got out of the surf with safety, as the wind now blew off the shore; but the furious gusts came every moment with increasing strength; and, at last, a surge rose with such overwhelming violence, that, in spite of all their efforts, the boat upset, and her unhappy crew were engulfed in the roaring waters. Their fate was beheld from the ship; but no aid could be given, as the renewed hurricane had rendered her state more deplorable than ever: she was driven before the wind, and soon lost sight of this fatal island.
Some of the boat's crew struggled a little time with the waves; but three of them were old men, and had been exhausted by the fatigues they had lately undergone. These speedily sank; but Lord Robert, being young and robust, strove hard for life, and at length gained the shore, almost exhausted by his contentions with the surfy breakers. When he had a little recovered his breath, he climbed the hill on which the cross was erected, and gazed towards the ship, which he saw driving before the wind, surrounded by foaming billows, and with every appearance of speedily sharing the fate he had so lately escaped. Wholly occupied in the thoughts of the revered friend that ship contained, he forgot his own desolate state, till the last appearance of the ship vanished, and he found himself alone.
Oppressed with sad thoughts, he turned himself from the contemplation of the wrathful ocean, now blackening with the sudden night of the torrid zone, and after a little search, found a low arch in the rock, which was the entrance to a natural hollow in its side. Into this place he crept, to shelter himself from the inclemency of the storm, which increased with tenfold fury after sunset.
In this situation he passed the night which succeeded this dismal day. It was a night of peculiar horror—tempestuous, dark, and rainy; and Lord Robert, though in a state of complete exhaustion, found that, in his late struggle with the breakers, he had received so many bruises, that to sleep was impossible. At intervals, as the lightning gleamed on the stormy expanse of waters before him, he thought how many of his brave companions, in all probability, slept beneath its roaring waves; and at that moment, instead of returning thanks to Heaven for his own preservation, he felt inclined to envy his comrades. To be entirely shut out from all intercourse with his fellow-creatures, never again to hear the sound of a human voice, and to be condemned, in the very bloom of youth, to pine away existence in that desolate place, far from every friend, appeared a doom so dreadful, that he was insensibly led to reflect for what crime so heavy a punishment could have befallen him.
Conscience, which sometimes sleeps, but never dies, did not fail, in this awful hour, to recall to his memory the cruelty and injustice of his conduct to Philip Harley: and when he reflected that, to gratify his imperious disposition and implacable spirit of revenge, the poor lad had been dragged from his peaceful home, his honest employment, and his affectionate parents, to endure a series of hardships and perils, and that he had finally suffered an untimely death,—this thought gave him so keen a pang of remorse, that, as if he expected from change of place to escape from memory, he started from his rocky pillow, and, as the day was now beginning to dawn, proceeded to the beach, to ascertain whether any of his friends from the ship had been so fortunate as to gain the shore; for, he remembered, his uncle had given orders to have the pinnace and yawl in readiness, in case the ship's situation should become desperate, that an attempt might be made to preserve the lives of part of the crew.
For some time, he pursued his melancholy walk, interrupted only by the dismal sight of pieces of wreck, which the impetuous waves from time to time dashed at his feet. The sea now running in high tide on the shore, inspired him with the hope of seeing the pinnace and boats, or rafts from the wreck; and that some, at least, of the ship's company might be so fortunate as to reach the island with life. The sun, rising brightly over the stormy ocean, discovered something struggling with the waves at no great distance. Lord Robert felt the most agonizing sensations at the idea that it was out of his power to render any assistance. All he could do was to wave his handkerchief, from the little rocky promontory on which he stood, and to shout with all his strength, to encourage him in his efforts. At that moment, a tremendous wave engulfed the object of his solicitude,—it sank, and his heart sank with it;—again it rose and neared the shore;—but its efforts grew fainter and fainter;—and Lord Robert, fearing that its strength would fail, though so near the shore, regardless of his own safety, dashed through the breakers to render his assistance, cheering as he did so. At the sound of his voice, the poor creature appeared to recover his strength, and, struggling through the breakers, sprang towards him with a joyful cry.
"Ah, my poor Neptune! Is it you?" exclaimed Lord Robert, with mingled anguish and pleasure, as he threw his arms round the faithful animal, and gave vent to his feelings with a burst of tears. "Yes!" said he, as he threw himself on the beach in bitter sorrow, "the Diomede must indeed have foundered, or my kind, my benevolent uncle, would never have committed this old memorial of his lost nephew to the mercy of the waves, for the sake of lightening the vessel, or saving the morsel of food he would have consumed." But again remembering the chance that some of the crew might be saved by the pinnace, and condemning the indulgence of his grief, he rose, and, dripping as he was, pursued his search, attended by his faithful Neptune, who bounded round him with joyful affection. In the course of his walk, he found some limes and cocoa-nuts scattered on the beach; and, yielding to the painful thirst that consumed him, he raised one of the limes to his parched lips, when he recollected that they were some of the fruit young Harley had gathered, and was carrying to the ship at the time the boat was upset, and the unfortunate youth had been buried in the waves. This thought recalled the bitter reflections he had with difficulty succeeded in banishing from his mind; and when he remembered that, though he had not been the immediate, he had certainly been the ultimate cause of his death, he sickened at the thought, and casting the untasted fruit from him, he said, "No; I cannot eat these!" Proceeding on his walk, he gained the spot where he had landed with his unfortunate companions the day before. He sighed deeply as he passed it; and, doubling a projection of rock, he discovered the pinnace, floating bottom upwards close in shore. At that sight, the most agonizing in the world to the heart of a sailor, he turned away, and wept almost to suffocation. For some moments, he continued to give way to the grief which oppressed him, till roused from the indulgence of his feelings by a loud and joyful bark from Neptune, and, uncovering his eyes, he perceived a young sailor, whose face was turned from him, gazing on the pinnace, apparently in as melancholy a mood as himself. This doubtless was the only one of her unfortunate crew who had escaped the violence of the waves; and Lord Robert, losing all distinction of rank in the fellowship of misfortune, sprang towards him with open arms, exclaiming, in a voice broken by emotion—"What cheer, my lad?" At the sound of his voice, the young man turned slowly round, and discovered a face pale with contending feelings—it was Philip Harley! For a moment, the two enemies surveyed each other in silence; each wondering at the other's preservation; each somewhat softened by the traces of sorrow and suffering in the countenance of the other,—but, alas! each mutually yielding to the same stubborn and haughty temper which had so long been the spring of all that was evil in their separate characters, they surveyed each other with a look of defiance, and walked gloomily away in opposite directions.
Lord Robert certainly did feel his heart relieved of half the painful emotions which had, for the last ten hours, oppressed it almost to bursting; and as he retraced his steps almost instinctively to his cheerless chamber in the rock, where he had spent that dreadful night, he exclaimed, "Thank God, he lives! I am not then his murderer! It is true, that entire solitude would have been much more agreeable to me, than the idea of breathing the same air with him, and being constantly exposed to the chance of meeting him; but that is more than compensated by the knowledge that he lives, and is, indeed, no worse off than myself."
Thus did Lord Robert compose his troubled thoughts, and lull to sleep those better feelings which almost prompted him, at the first sight of young Harley, to make such advances towards amity, as would have been pleasing in the sight of God, and even in that of his enemy, whose heart, naturally kind and good, had been greatly softened by the awful circumstances under which their last interview had taken place. Besides, he had been an unseen spectator of Lord Robert's manly but acute sorrow, when he beheld, in the deplorable situation of the pinnace, a confirmation of his worst fears respecting the fate of his uncle and friends. He, too, had been weeping; for he reverenced Sir Henry Stanley, and loved Lieutenant Cary; and he was disposed to behold even Lord Robert with complacency, for their sakes; for he knew he was very dear to them both; and when he saw the agony with which Lord Robert staggered forward, on reaching the spot which commanded this melancholy sight, and heard his repeated sobs, he felt his hatred towards him so much diminished, that he was forced to recollect all the injuries he had received from this young officer, before he could sufficiently repel the inclination he felt to speak to him in the voice of kindness and comfort. Lord Robert had hitherto appeared to him haughty, rude, and unfeeling; and Philip knew not that this spoiled child of prosperity possessed at times much sensibility, strong affections, and feelings, which, had they been properly directed, would have been conducive to the happiness of all around him; instead of which, his unchecked passions produced danger and inconvenience to all who, even unintentionally, irritated them, and misery to their unhappy possessor, far beyond what he had ever inflicted on others.