Scarcely had he spoken when a deep, sullen roar, easily distinguished by a seaman amid the howling of the tempest, struck on the ears of the crew. “Breakers! breakers ahead!” they shouted.
“Port the helm—hard a-port!” cried a deep voice. It was that of the old pilot. The sound of the breakers had reached his ears even below, and roused him up. The order came too late. At that moment there was a loud crash; the cutter struck, and her rudder was carried away. The following sea lifted her and carried her on, while other seas came roaring up, and hissed and foamed round her. Though they covered her with sheets of spray, her crew were still able to cling to the rigging and preserve their lives. Providentially, most of the hours of the night were already spent, for they could not long have endured the cold and wet to which they were exposed. When daylight broke they found that they were near the end of a reef, about a mile from the shore. The gale had greatly abated. The tide was low. Inside of the reef there was smooth water. If they could launch their boat, which had remained on deck uninjured, they might save themselves before the return of the tide, when the cutter would be sure to go to pieces. Though the little boat narrowly escaped being stove in, the attempt was successful. The shore was reached. It was close to Paul Petherwick’s house, some miles to the eastward of the port to which the cutter belonged.
Close to the spot where Paul and his crew landed, on the shore of a romantic bay, stood the residence of Sir Baldwin Treherne, known as the Manor House. Sir Baldwin was lord of the manor—a kind, warm-hearted, generous man. He had himself been at sea in his youth, but on coming into his estate had given up the profession. He had learned when at sea, probably from experiencing some of the hardships sailors have to endure, to sympathise with them, and to feel for their sufferings. He had seen through his telescope, while dressing in the morning, the wreck on the reef, and had immediately set off to find out what assistance could be rendered to the crew. He met the old pilot and his people not far from the shore, and insisted on their coming at once to the Manor House to be warmed and fed. Paul Petherwick would indeed have been unable to have reached his own home, as his strength and spirits were already exhausted. As the day advanced the wind again increased, and when the tide rose the Sea-Gull, battered by the waves, was seen quickly to disappear.
Great was old Paul’s grief as he watched the destruction of the vessel. “God’s will be done,” he said, bowing his head. “My poor wife and children, what will become of them? With her goes all the means I have of supporting them, and part of her cost is still unpaid.”
The kind baronet overheard him. “Paul, we have known each other a good many long years,” he said, putting his hand on his shoulder. “I should like to make you a Christmas-box. Let you and me go off to Plymouth to-morrow, and see if we cannot fall in with as fine a cutter as the Sea-Gull. It won’t do to be letting our ships knock about the chops of the Channel this winter weather without you to show them the way up; so I’ll find you a craft, and may she have better luck than the poor Sea-Gull!”
“Oh, Sir Baldwin, you are very good; so good, I shall never be able to repay you,” exclaimed Paul Petherwick, respectfully pressing the kind baronet’s hand.
“I am paid beforehand with all the blessings I enjoy,” answered Sir Baldwin. “They came to me without my having toiled for them, far less deserved them; I am bound to make the best use of them in my power, so say no more about the matter.”
A new cutter was found and purchased, and named the Lady Isabel, after Sir Baldwin’s wife; and for many a day, in summer and winter, Paul Petherwick sailed her in pursuit of his calling.