“I was correct, sir—the French fleet is under weigh—the expedition is abandoned; away then before your chance is lost—down to the Bay and get on board; you will at least find a path where there is glory as well as peril; there—away.”
“They cannot have done this,” cried Mark, in an agony of passion; “they would not desert the cause they have fostered, and leave us to our fate here.”
Mark vaulted on Travers' horse as he said this, all feeling for his own safety merged in his anxiety for the issue of the plot.
“Treachery we have had enough of—we may be well spared the curse of cowardice. Good-bye, farewell—few, either friends or foes, have done me the services that you have. If we are to meet again, Travers——”
“Farewell, farewell,” cried Travers; “we shall never meet as enemies,” and he hastened from the spot, while Mark bending forward in the saddle, pressed the spurs to his horse, and started.
With the speed of one who cared for nothing less than his own safety, Mark urged his horse onward, and deserting the ordinary road, he directed his course to the shore along the base of the mountain—a rough and dangerous path beset with obstacles, and frequently on the very edge of the cliff; at last he reached the Bay, over which the dark storm was raging in all its violence; the wind blowing with short and sudden gusts sent the great waves thundering against the rocks, and with fearful roar through the caves and crevices of the coast. Riding madly on till the white foam dashed over him, he turned on every side, expecting to see the boats of the fleet making for the land, but all was dreary and desolate; he shouted aloud, but his voice was drowned in the uproar of the elements; and then, but not till then, came over him the afflicting dread of desertion. The vivid lightning shot to and fro over the bleak expanse of sea, but not a sail was there—all, all were gone.
There was a projecting promontory of rock which, running out to a considerable distance in the Bay, shut out all view beyond it; the last hope he cherished was, that they might have sought shelter in the bay beneath this, and plunging into the boiling surf, he urged his horse forward—now madly rearing as the strong sea struck him—now buffeting the white waves with vigorous chest—the noble beast braved the storm-lashed water, and bore him alternately bounding and swimming, as the tide advanced or receded.
The struggle, with all its peril to life, brought back the failing courage to Mark's heart, and he cheered his horse with a cry of triumphant delight, as each great wave passed over them, and still they went on undaunted. It was a short but desperate achievement to round the point of the promontory, where the sea beat with redoubled fury; but the same daring intrepidity seemed to animate both horse and rider, and after a moment of extreme danger, both gained the beach in safety. At the very same instant that the animal touched the strand, a quick flash broke over the sea, and then came the thundering report of a cannon. This was answered by another further out to sea, and then a blue light burst forth on high, and threw its lurid glare over the spars and canvas of a large ship—every rope and block, every man and every gun were displayed in the spectral light. It was a grand, but still an appalling sight, to see the huge mass labouring in the sea, and then the next moment to strain the eyes through the black canopy of cloud that closed around her; for so it was, as the light went out, no trace of the vessel remained, nor was there aught to mark the spot she had occupied.