At last the tempest seemed to yield. The wind became hushed, and although the swell of the sea continued for some hours, yet it diminished every moment, and went on gradually moderating until daybreak. By this time the sky had cleared itself of the clouds that had hitherto obscured it, the sun rose above the horizon in full splendour, and a faint hope arose with it that the vessel might yet be saved. But no land was yet visible. The needle was consulted, and it was determined to hoist the mainsail, and to avail themselves of an eastern breeze, to steer in that direction where they knew the British coast must lie; and two men, who were placed in the round-top to look out a-head, soon cheered them with the intelligence that the land was visible; upon which they gave thanks to Heaven, [[534]]and, as they scudded gently before the breeze, the blue mountains began to appear in the distant haze, and were swelling every moment upon their sight.
Now it was that some of the older men in the ship came to inform the Franciscan that it had been the wish of Mercer, repeatedly expressed during his life, that wherever he might die, he should, if possible, be buried at sea; and, since the cessation of the storm permitted them to have some leisure, the monk gave directions accordingly to prepare for the solemn rite. Old Barnard had never appeared since the moment he left the deck after the catastrophe that befel Mercer, and the struggle the crew had been maintaining ever since with the angry elements had hindered any one from visiting him where he had retreated. He was now sent for; but the sailor who went for him speedily returned with a face of alarm, to report that he could get no answer from him. The Franciscan then lighted a lamp, and went below, followed by several anxious faces. There lay the old man, wrapped up in a blanket, in his berth. His head was turned from them. The Franciscan shook him gently, but he stirred not. He then turned him round, and the light of the lamp fell upon his face. It was ghastly—the eyes were glazed, and the rough features fixed in death. He seemed to have died soon after he had lain down; but whether he had suffered some fatal injury in his noble attempt to save Mercer, or whether he had died of a broken heart for the loss of the brave young man, to whom he was so much attached, it was impossible to say.
Preparations were made for bestowing upon old Barnard the same funeral rites as were contemplated for his master. The religious duties were performed over both by the Franciscan, and both were consigned together to the deep amidst the tears that fell from many a weather-beaten face.
The breeze continued, and the distant mountains grew every moment more and more distinct; but long ere they had approached the land sufficiently near to enable them to determine what part of the coast they were borne towards, a thick fog arose, and put an end to every speculation on the subject, by shutting it entirely from their eyes. The vessel laboured exceedingly, from her shattered condition, and there was no hope of safety left for them but to avail themselves to the utmost of the favourable breeze that still continued to blow. It lasted them bravely, and earned them cheerily on until sunset, but then it fell calm; and the mist clearing away, the moon arose, and showed them a bold coast some miles to the south. Farther on [[535]]the land became lower, and thither the Franciscan made the crew pull with all their might. As they neared the land, the Lady Beatrice was brought out, half-dead, upon the deck, to be prepared for disembarking immediately, the frail vessel beginning every moment to show more alarming symptoms of the shattered state to which the continued storm had reduced it. They now beheld the lights in some fishermen’s huts on shore, and the distant murmur of the waves, breaking gently on the beach, was the cheering music of hope to them. All at once the vessel struck upon some sunken rock or sand, and instantly began to fill. The confusion was dreadful. The Franciscan approached Beatrice, and quickly made her sensible of her danger. The boat was got out, but it was instantly overloaded—sunk—and all were in the water.
“Hold fast by my cowl, and fear not,” cried the Franciscan, who had the wisdom to stick to the vessel, and who now committed himself to the waves, as it went down under them. Where all were men accustomed to the sea, all were necessarily swimmers, and all made lustily for the shore. Thither also did the bold monk press his way, the Lady Beatrice hanging with the gripe of fate to his cowl; and the distance being but short, and the sea smooth, she was soon placed in safety upon the beach, whence he quickly carried her to the fishermen’s cottages.
The poor inhabitants of the fishing hamlet did all in their power to cherish the unfortunate people who were thus shipwrecked amongst them, but it was little they could do; and the comfort of a large fire was the utmost that any of the hovels could furnish. The Franciscan eagerly inquired what part of the coast they had been thrown on; and he declared that, since it had pleased the saints to deny them an entrance into the Frith of Forth, where lay their destination, he had reason to rejoice that they had taken land on the eastern coast of Moray. The Lady Beatrice, who had never held up her head during the tempestuous voyage, was grievously weakened by sickness. She sank down exhausted on the wretched pallet that was provided for her, and, eager as was the Franciscan to proceed with her to Elgin, the following day was far spent before she could gather strength enough to undertake even so short a ride. Horses were then procured, and they arrived at the gates of the Hospital of the Maison Dieu, where they were kindly received by the pious brethren and the sisterhood, who administered the hospitalities of the institutions to pilgrims and strangers of the better sort, as well as its charities to the poor. [[536]]
CHAPTER LXVII.
The Wolfe of Badenoch again—The Burning of Elgin Cathedral.
The Franciscan left the Lady Beatrice with the nuns of the establishment, and hastened to present himself before the Bishop of Moray, who was then at his Palace of Spynie, at some distance from the town. He found the good man in deep conference with some of his canons, and he received him joyfully.