Darnley; or, The Field of the Cloth of Gold

by G. P. R. James

"Lord 'a mercy! we shall all be drowned; I am sure we shall!" cried our old friend Jekin Groby, coming forward, transformed into the likeness of a bastard sailor, his new profession sitting upon him with inconceivable awkwardness, and the Kentish clothier shining forth in every movement of his inexpert limbs. "Lord 'a mercy upon us! we shall all be drowned as sure as possible! Mistress nun, let me help you down below. It's more comfortable to be drowned downstairs, they say. There's a flash of lightning, I declare! Mercy upon us! we shall all go to the bottom. This is the worst storm I've seen since that Portingallo vagabond kidnapped me, by the help of the devil and Sir Payan Wileton. Let me help you down below, mistress nun. Lord bless you! it's no trouble; I'm going down myself."

Constance, however, preferred staying upon deck, where she could watch the progress of their fate, to remaining below in a state of uncertainty; and consequently resisted the honest persuasions of good Jekin Groby, who, finding her immoveable, slipped quietly below unobserved, and hid himself in an empty hammock, courageously making up his mind to be drowned, if he could but be drowned, asleep.

In the mean time the storm began to grow more vehement, the wind coming in quick violent gusts, and the clouds spreading far and wide over the face of the sky, with a threatening blackness of hue, and heavy slowness of flight, that menaced their instant descent. As yet no second flash of lightning had succeeded the first, and no drop of rain had fallen; and though the ship laboured violently with the waves, excited into tumult by the sudden change of wind, still, running on, she seemed in a fair way of reaching Whitesand in safety. Presently, another bright flash blazed through the sky, and seemed to rend it from the horizon to the zenith, while instant upon the red path of its fiery messenger roared forth the voice of the thunder, as if it would annihilate the globe. Another now succeeded, and another, till the ear and the eye were almost deafened by the din and blinded by the light; while slow, large drops came dripping from the heavens, like tears wrung by agony from a giant's eyes. Then came a still and death-like pause; the thunder ceased, the wind hushed, and the only sounds that met the ear were the rushing of the waves by the ship's side, and the pattering of each big raindrop as it fell on the deck; while a small sea-bird kept wheeling round the vessel, and screaming, as with a sort of fiendish joy, to see it labouring with the angry billows. Soon again, however, did the storm begin with redoubled fury, and the lightnings flashed more vividly than ever, covering all the sky with broad blue sheets of light, while still in the midst of the whole blaze appeared a narrow zigzag line of fire, so bright that it made the rest look pale.

Still Constance kept upon the deck, and drawing her hood over her head, strove to fix herself, amidst the pitching of the vessel, by clinging to the binnacle, which in ships of that day was often supported by a couple of oblique bars. Seeing, in a momentary cessation of the storm, the eye of the steersman fix upon her with a look of somewhat like pity, she ventured to ask if they were in much danger.

"Danger! bless you, no, lady," cried the man; "only a little thunder and lightning; no danger in life. But you had better go below; there's no danger."

As he spoke, another bright flash caused Constance to close her eyes; but a tremendous crash, which made itself audible even through the roar of the thunder, as well as a heavy roll of the vessel, gave her notice that the lightning had struck somewhere; and looking up, to her horror she beheld the mainmast shivered almost to atoms by the lightning, and rolled over the ship's side, to which it was still attached by a mass of blazing cordage.

"Cut! cut! cut!" vociferated the steersman, amidst the unavailing shouts and bustling inactivity of the crew; "cut, you Portingallo vagabonds! You'll have the ship on fire. The idiots are staring as if they never saw such a thing before. Here, captain, take the helm. D---- you to h--! take the helm!" And springing forward, with an energy to which the danger of the moment seemed to lend additional impulse, he scattered the frightened Portuguese and impassive Dutchmen, who were uncluing ropes and disentangling knots; and, catching up a hatchet, soon cut sheer through the thicker rigging; and with a roll the blazing remnants of the mast pitched into the sea, leaving nothing on fire behind but some scattered cordage, which the Englishman and his companions gradually extinguished.

In the mean while the mast, still flaming in the water, swung round the ship; and the Portingallo, whose presence of mind did not seem of the very first quality, brought the vessel's head as near the wind as possible, to let it drift astern, and thus, by this lubberly action, bore right upon the shore, carried on imperceptibly by a strong current.

At that moment the Englishman raised himself, and looking out ahead, vociferated, "A reef! a reef! Breakers ahead! Down with the helm! where the devil are you going? Down with the helm, I say!" and rushing forward, he seized the tiller, but too late. Scarcely had he touched it with his hand, when with a tremendous shock the ship struck on the reef, making her very seams open and her masts stagger. "Ho! down in the hold! down in the hold! heave all the ballast aft!" cried Bradford; "lay those cannon here; bring her head to wind, let it take her aback if it will. She may swing off yet."

But just then an immense swelling wave heaved the ship up like a cork, and dashed her down again upon the hidden rocks without hope or resource. Every one caught at what was next him for support; for the jar was so great that it was hardly possible for even the sailors to keep upon their feet. But the next minute the ship became more steady, and a harsh grating sound succeeded, as if the hard angles of the rock were tearing the bottom of the ship to pieces. Every one now occupied himself in a different way. Bradford sat quietly down by the tiller, which he abandoned to its own guidance, while the Portingal ran whispering among his countrymen, who as speedily and silently as possible got the boat to the ship's side. In the mean while, Dr. Wilbraham crept over to Lady Constance, who, turning her meek eyes to heaven, seemed to await her fate with patient resignation.