Washed Ashore; Or, The Tower of Stormount Bay

by William Henry Giles Kingston

Before entering the tower, the captain gave a glance over the ocean. The mist had again cleared off completely, and his keen eye discovered far out a small object—what it was he could not determine. He pointed it out to his daughter. Throwing off her wet cloak, she hurried to the telescope, that she might ascertain what the object was. She looked eagerly, as it was, probably, she thought, a part of the wreck. After watching it a short time, it became evident to her that it was being drifted by the tide and wind towards the shore. She called her father, who by this time had put on his dry clothes. He asked her to point out the spot where she had first seen it. “Yes—yes, it may possibly drift into the bay!” he exclaimed; “but it will be midnight before it can reach the shore. I must go out, however, and set men to watch, for it is large enough to support a dozen or more people, though it is scarcely possible that they should have clung on in that heavy sea out there.”

Once more the Captain and Tom, habited in their foul-weather clothes, repaired to the beach. Darkness was coming on, and the object they were in search of was only for an instant at a time visible as it rose to the foaming summit of a wave. It however remained long enough in sight to enable them to point it out to the men at the huts, several of whom agreed to remain with the captain and Tom on the shore, with ropes, to assist any one by chance clinging to the piece of wreck.

Again Mrs Askew and Margery were left in a state of anxiety, for they knew the danger that must be run in the attempt to draw a person out of such a raging sea. Margery insisted on running down to take her father some food—for he had had none since dinner—and, of course, Becky offered to go, but at that moment Blind Peter came to the door, and he undertook to convey some supper for the captain and Tom; and the black boy, seeming to comprehend the matter, begged by signs to be allowed to accompany him, and to carry the baskets. To Blind Peter day and night were the same, and with every inch of the ground he was well acquainted, so that he had no difficulty in finding the captain and his companions—guided to them by the sound of their voices. Blind Peter was recompensed for his want of sight by the most acute sense of hearing. Accustomed also to be out in all weathers, he cared nothing for the pelting of the storm, or for the clouds of spray which beat over those who stood on the beach, and expressed his intention of remaining till the piece of wreck should reach the shore.

“Then you must share with us the provender you have brought, friend Peter,” said the captain, taking a seat on some rocks rather more out of the reach of the spray than where they had been standing. Some lighted their pipes, and others produced bottles of spirits from their pockets, and, being all of them well clothed to resist the weather, they made themselves as comfortable as circumstances would allow. Occasionally, one or two got up and ran along the beach, to try to ascertain if the wreck could be seen. Suddenly, Blind Peter started up, exclaiming, “I hear something floating on the water! There is a voice, too, faint, calling for help.”

The captain, and Tom, and the other men, with their ropes, hurried after Peter along the beach. He stopped, pointing over the sea. The moon, which had hitherto been obscured, at that moment broke forth from behind a cloud, and revealed a small raft floating among the breakers. Again the moon was hidden by the cloud, and then once more it appeared, and this time the raft was seen more distinctly, and on it appeared a human form, grasping

the planks firmly with one hand as he lay along then he waved the other to show that he was alive. No sooner was he seen than the agitation of the young black became very great; and taking the end of a rope from one of the men, he fastened it round his own body, and intimated that he would swim off with it to the raft. There was no time to be lost, for any moment the lad—for lad he evidently was—might be swept off by the breakers, or the raft might be thrown violently on the shore, and he crushed beneath it. The captain and Tom also fastened ropes round their waists, as sailors well know how to do, and rushed into the surf to help the brave black boy. The raft came on towards them; the black boy sprang on it, and seized the lad, who seemed at that moment to have lost all consciousness. An instant longer, and he would have been swept away. The receding waters rushed back with the raft. The black boy, though an excellent swimmer, could scarcely support his friend as those on shore hauled him in, when the captain and Tom rushed to his aid. The captain stuck his timber-toe in the sand, Tom caught the stranger’s jacket with his iron hook, and all three brought him at length safely up the beach out of the reach of the surf, which came hissing after them as if angry at the loss of its prey.

“Now, lads, carry him up among you to the tower; a warm bed and some hot grog is what the lad now wants!” cried the captain, who possibly felt that it was high time for himself to get to a warm bed, for he was not so strong as he had been, and he had gone through great exertions.

It was too evident, that if the raft had had more occupants, the lad was the only survivor. The light of the moon, as it shone on him as the seamen bore him up to the tower, showed that he was dressed in a sea officer’s uniform jacket, such as is worn by midshipmen—to which rank, from his youth, it seemed probable that he belonged. Tom had hurried on before, so that when the party arrived, Mrs Askew, Margery, and Becky, were busily preparing and warming Jack’s bed for the young stranger. The warmth and rubbing soon brought him to consciousness; but Mrs Askew, observing his exhausted condition, would not let him speak to give any account of himself until he had had some sleep, without which it was evident that food would do him but little good. The captain pretended to be very indignant at being popped into bed as soon as he got home, “like a little boy who had tumbled into the water,” he said; but he was not sorry to drink a glass of hot grog which Margery brought him, after which he fell fast asleep.

Mrs Askew watched by the side of the young sailor lad, who now also slept soundly. She thought of her own dear boy, who might have been as this lad was—washed ashore on some strange land; and as she would have wished him to have been treated, so she desired to treat the young stranger. He was older than Jack would now be—stouter and fairer—not like him, indeed, except in possessing an honest and innocent countenance. She did not for a moment suppose that he was her own boy come back to her, and yet, as she watched him, her heart strings began strangely to coil round him, and she felt that he could never be a stranger to her. She was sure that he would be worthy of her regard—judging by the expression of his countenance—this opinion being strengthened by hearing of the affection shown to him by the young negro. She sat up with some food ready to give him when he should awake, and it was not till daybreak, after he had taken it, that she would allow Becky to take her place. When she opened the door she found the black boy coiled up close to it, on a rug. He had left the snug bed provided for him that he might be near the lad, to whom he was evidently attached.