"Those accursed Scots perceive it not; but Christian Alborg doth. See, he hath hauled his wind and braced up his foreyard—another moment will see us sucked into the whirl, or stranded on the shoal made between us and the coast by the eddy, ha! ha!" and Hans, who was pale as death under the influence of wrath and fear, laughed like a hyena at the terrors about to replace those of the battle.
A shout of triumph burst from the little crew of Bothwell's shattered ship; but it was answered by one of derision and exultation from the Norwegian; for at that moment, as Hans had predicted, the Fleur-de-Lys bilged upon the reef or rocky shoal that lay between the eddy and the shore—striking with a crash that made her foremast bend like a willow wand ere it went by the board, bringing down the main-topmast; the heavy culverins went surging all to leeward, and, crashing away the bulwarks, plunged into the sea, which, being agitated by the increasing gale, broke in foam upon the ridgy summit of the reef, and hurled its breakers over the parting frame of the Fleur-de-Lys, which thus in a moment became a shattered and desolate wreck.
The shout of the Norsemen was their last display of hostility; for, on beholding the terrible trap into which the foe had so suddenly fallen, the gallant old Knight of the Dannebrog suspended his firing, and lowered his boats to pick up the survivors of the battle and wreck; for so fierce was the tumult of water that boiled around her, and so great his dread of the whirlpool, that he continued rather to stand off than towards the scene of the catastrophe.
The towering forecastle of the bilged ship was highest above the water, and to that Konrad, after seeing poor Hans Knuber washed from his side, to be dashed again and again a lifeless corpse upon the brow of the reef, clung with all the energy of despair, clambering up step by step, clutching the ruin of spars and cordage that hung over it, till he reached the iron rail enclosing the top, which he embraced with both arms, and looked down upon the scene of terror and desolation presented by the lower half of the wreck, which was submerged in water.
Fitfully the white moon gleamed upon it, through the openings in the hurrying clouds; its cold lustre rather adding to, than lessening, the ghastly horror of the wreck and reef.
Far down in the deep waste, which was full of water—for every instant the surf broke over it in mountains of foam—was a swarm of struggling men, many of them in armour, clinging to whatever would support them. Ever and anon they sent forth cries of terror and despair; while every plank and spar creaked and groaned as the waves beat and lashed around, as if eager to overwhelm and engulf them all.
The wind was increasing, and, urged by the long fetch of the Skager Rack, the waves broke in stupendous volumes over the reef and the bilged wreck, at every return washing away some unfortunate into the abyss of the whirlpool, that yawned and foamed and growled on one side; while on the other lay the wide waste of the ocean, and the Biornen about a mile distant, with her white canvass gleaming, like the garments of a spirit, in the light of the fitful moon. Behind the reef towered up the black Norwegian hills, like a wall of steep and frowning rock, fringed by nodding pines, and bordered by a white line of froth, that marked where the breakers reared their fronts to lash and roar upon the impending cliffs—but all these were buried in the long and sombre shadow which the tremendous bluffs threw far on the restless sea.
Meanwhile, Bothwell and his knights, though landsmen, and more at home in the tiltyard, in the tavern, the castle hall, or on the mountain side, never for a moment lost their presence of mind. Throwing off the heavier parts of their armour, they contrived to secure one of the boats, into which the Earl, with Ormiston, Bolton, Hay of Tallo, French Paris, and several others, sprang with all the speed that fear of a terrible fate could lend them.
"A Bothwell! a Bothwell!" cried the Earl waving his hand, as the light shallop was one moment buoyed aloft like a cork, and the next plunged down into the deep, dark trough of the midnight sea. "Save yourselves by spars and booms, my brave hearts!" he cried to those whom his heart bled to leave behind—but it was impossible that one boat could save them all; "or lash yourselves to the wreck, and we will return for you."
"Bend to your oars, my stout knaves, cheerily," cried Wood, the skipper.