“Can’t they get another captain to take charge of the ship?”
“Doubtless they could, but they won’t trust every man with my vessel.”
“Oh, I wish you would stay at home! Indeed, indeed, I fear, if you leave me, I shall never see you again. Last night I dreamt, and in my dream I fancied I saw your body being taken from the sea, your hair clotted, and your face covered with blood. Oh, I do fear, if you again leave me, I shall never see you alive!”
“Do not be alarmed for my safety, Myfanwy. Life is as safe on the ocean as on the land. The same Providence watches over the seaman as the landsman. He being at the helm, He controlling and guiding the destiny of us all, will be my friend, even should danger threaten me. So cheer up, thou treasure of my heart, and since you are so urgent that I should give up my calling, I now promise that on my return from this one voyage I will remain at home.”
“I can urge you no further, John. During your absence I’ll pray for your safe return.”
The following morning Captain John ap William took his departure. He joined his ship at Bristol, and from that port he sailed for the city of Lisbon with a cargo of West of England goods. From thence he sailed to London, thence to Hamburg, and after several voyages between the two last-mentioned cities, chartered his ship to the Mediterranean, and took a valuable cargo at Marseilles for Bristol.
During her husband’s absence, Myfanwy felt constant anxiety on his behalf, an anxiety intensified owing to the sad havoc among shipping at Dunraven Bay. As it was now winter, her feeling of apprehension increased in intensity, as she daily expected his return. October had come and gone, but he had not returned, nor had she received, for several weeks, a letter from him. November had come in more than usually stormy. All over the country trees had been uprooted, houses were blown down, and on the rocks above Dunraven Bay, and below Southerndown, the winds were so terrible that persons were in the imminent risk of being blown over if they went within even fifty yards of the precipice. On Friday morning the hurricane increased in its fury. As the evening approached, the storm became fearful, while the tumultuous waves increased in violence, foaming, then wildly raving, then receding in circling eddies for awhile, into their gloomy bosom; then, again, returning with renewed force and augmented fury. Upon their tumultuous and angry surges a large vessel, heavily laden, was being driven towards the bay of Dunraven by the fierce tempest. If that fine ship, which bore on her bosom the rich merchandise of continental skill and industry, be dashed against the desperate assemblage of rocks, crags, and shoals surrounding the bay—imagination with its utmost stretch could form but a very imperfect idea of so direful and so appalling a spectacle. As the villagers gazed upon the tumultuous billows, they saw the ship, which had battled many a stormy breeze, uplifted on the briny surge, then plunging headlong down the repelling rock. In that terrible collision, a hole nearly three feet square, was made in the bottom, through which the sea rushed in with terrible force, on which she began to sink. When this was discovered, the crew, in wild despair, called to the men on the beach to come and help them. They, however, moved not, but waited the issue with the most stolid indifference. Amid that cry of despairing anguish the sea rolled in with increased violence and fury, the waves dashing over the fast-sinking ship, and carrying along with them the unfortunate crew. Presently there was seen clinging to a frail board a young man, comely in form and handsomely dressed. Having fastened himself to this, the wreckers heard him beseeching them, in most piteous cries to come and help him. However, to that cry no attention was paid. Seeing this, he, with a voice which moved even the hard hearts of the wreckers, called out, “Oh, my father, my father! if you love your son, who has been a dutiful and a faithful son to you—if there be in your bosom any affection for him who has only lived to promote your welfare and interest; who, in your declining years, has laboured and striven, and thereby has succeeded in redeeming the manor of Dunraven from its heavy incumbrance—send the men to save me from a watery grave!” That cry the lord of Dunraven heard. It pierced his very soul. His countenance was marked with anguish, blended with despair. All he could say was, “It is my own son Walter, and I have caused his death!” He then fell down in a fit. When the wreckers heard their master’s exclamation they, as one man, took to the sea. Towards the drowning man they pressed forward with great energy, and at last succeeded in touching the frail board. At that moment there was a terrible sea, which, in receding, carried away the young lord of Dunraven and the whole of the wreckers, except Mac the Devil, who succeeded in gaining the shore. The Lord of Dunraven, when he recovered from the swoon, learned all that had happened, even of his son’s death. From that night Mr. Vaughan was never seen at Dunraven Castle. He went forth, bowed down with age and with sin, a wandering ghost, seeking rest but finding none. No one ever heard that he was sorry on account of the crimes he had committed against heaven and earth. In a few years afterwards news came to Wales that in an encounter with a highwayman, in the North of England, the once great lord of Dunraven was slain, and his body was thrown over the rocks into the sea. In his pockets were found papers which led to his identification. As his money had been taken by the robber, he was buried at the expense of the parish in which his body was found. Such was the life and such the end of a man who sought riches by robbery, and gold by the sacrifice of human life. Indeed, he lived a miserable life, and died a miserable death.
As regards the other persons of this history but little remains to be told. Mac, on that night, disappeared from the scene. But every nook and corner of the coast was watched and carefully guarded night and day. The people of the neighbourhood expressed their confidence that Mac was still in the locality, in his old hiding-place. After watching for a fortnight, during which there were no signs of his appearance, they were almost persuaded to give up the affair. However, they resolved still to continue guarding the coast for another week. The day before that week expired, one of the watchers saw in the sea, coming out from between two rocks, a man diving. Evidently he had come from some subterranean cavern, with an outlet under the water. This man was Mac the Devil. He was there and then taken, and lodged in gaol. At the following assizes he was found guilty of murder and was condemned to die. Before his death he confessed all, and left behind him a record of his exploits, and a detailed account of his connection with the lord of Dunraven. Before that record was read, Mr. Vaughan had breathed his last.
But what became of Captain John? It was his vessel that went down, and it was young Vaughan’s cargo with which she was laden. On the morning subsequent to the wreck he was found on the seashore in Dunraven Bay, with his body much bruised, and his face covered with blood. He was, however, still alive, and thanks to the careful nursing of his wife and medical skill, he soon recovered, and gave up going to sea. Ever afterwards he lived at home. He became an excellent farmer, and saved money. He lived to a good old age, and left behind a numerous family, who were as distinguished for their virtue as they were for their industry. In this world he moreover lived as he wished to die, leaving behind him a pattern of religiousness which his children, and their children after them, followed. Thus, while the end of the good captain was happy and peaceful, that of the lord of Dunraven was full of anguish, while he met with a doom which it is terrible to contemplate.