Eustace Marchmont: A friend of the people

by Evelyn Everett-Green

The sound of voices approaching from the shore warned him that his confederates were approaching. Some came from the castle, others from the neighbourhood of the false light they had kindled. In all there were a dozen of them, stout fierce men, bent on plunder, and caring nothing for the loss of human life, like too many of their race all along the coast in those days.

Some of these men pushed off in a second boat, others joined Saul in his small cutter. They carried no lights with them, nor did they do more than row out into the bay. Once safely off from shore, they lay still on their oars, and listened and watched intently, talking in low tones to one another from time to time, but mostly absorbed in the excitement of expectation.

All at once out of the darkness hove a light, out beyond the Smuggler’s Reef, where the false light was burning, and a stilled exclamation of triumph burst from all—

“That be she!”

Then deep silence fell again, and the men held their breath to watch her course. She went slowly by the reef; they could hear the throb of her engines in pauses of the gale; and then suddenly they saw her lights shift—she had fallen into the trap—she was turning inwards. In a few short minutes more she would strike upon those cruel horns, and be dashed to pieces before them, without the chance of escape. If they struck outside the rock, there would be more spoil and prey; but it might be safer for the wreckers if she went within the extended horns and grounded there. Then the quicksands would suck down all traces in a very short time, and none would know the fate of the missing vessel, which would be supposed to have met her death through the failure of the new-fangled machinery.

Onward, ever onward, came the doomed ship, riding fearlessly through the angry sea, secure of the course she was going. She had slowed down a little in turning, but the engines were at work now at full power. Her light was very near. The men in the boats almost felt as though their close proximity would be observed....

Crash!

It was an awful sound. No man of those who heard it that night ever forgot it, and it rang in Saul’s ears for many a long weary day, driving him well-nigh to madness.

One terrific splintering crash, and then an awful sound of grinding and tearing and battering. The ship’s lights heaved up and fell again in a terrible fashion, and amid the shrill whistling of the gale there rang out a wail of human anguish and despair, and then hoarse loud voices, as if in command; though there was no distinguishing words in the strife of the elements.

Motionless, awed, triumphant, yet withal almost terrified, the wreckers sat in their boats and listened and waited. It needed no great exercise of knowledge to tell them that the great vessel had heeled over and was settling—settling slowly to her end; that there could be no launching of boats—no hope for any on board unless they were stout and sturdy swimmers and well acquainted with the coast. The vessel had actually impaled itself, as it were, upon the cruel sharp point of one of the horns. The water had rushed in through the ruptured side, and almost at once the great floating monster had heeled over, and, though partially upheld by the rocks, was being battered and dashed in the most fearful way, so that no living being could long escape either being drawn down to a watery death, or battered out of all human form upon the cruel jagged rocks.