CHAPTER XVIII
_Duty Wins the Game_
A booming roar came down upon them from the frigate, which had fired abroadside, which was followed presently by the whistling of shot overtheir heads. Great rents were seen in the canvas, pieces of runninggear fell to the deck, there was a crashing, rending sound, and a partof the rail, left standing abaft the mizzen shrouds, smashed intosplinters and drove inboard under the impact of a heavy shot.
One splinter struck the man at the helm in the side; he fell with ashriek, and lay white and still by the side of the wheel, which, nolonger restrained by his hand, spun round madly. Another splinter hitthe sword of Talbot, breaking the blade and sweeping it from his hands,and the unlucky scrap of paper was blown into the sea. The spankersheet was cut in two, and the boom swept out to windward, knocking oneof the men overboard. There was neither time nor opportunity to pickhim up, and he went to his death unheeded.
Seymour dropped his sword, every instinct of a sailor aroused, andsprang to the horse-block. The ship, left to itself, fell off rapidlybefore the wind. Bentley jumped to seize the helm.
"Flow the head sheets there!" cried the lieutenant; "lively! Aft hereand haul in the spanker! Brail up the foresail! Down, hard down withthe helm!"
There was another broadside from the heavy guns of the frigate. Talbotreplied with his stern-chaser, and a cloud of splinters showed that theshot took effect, whereat the men at the gun cheered and loaded, andthen crash went the mizzen topgallant mast above their heads!
"Lively, men!" shouted Seymour, "we must get on the wind again or weare lost."
"Breakers on the starboard bow!" shrieked the lookout on the forecastlesuddenly. "Breakers on the port bow!" His voice ran aft in a shrillscream, fraught with terror, "Breakers ahead!"
"Down, hard down with the helm, Bentley," said Seymour, himselfspringing over to assist the old man at the wheel.
But Bentley raised his hand and kept the wheel steady. "Too late, sir,for that," he cried, "we are in the pass. God help us now, sir. Mr.Seymour, look to the ship, sir, look to the ship!"
The young officer sprang back on the horse-block, his soul filled withhorror. So fate had decided for him at last, and duty, not love, hadwon the mighty game. A third broadside passed harmlessly over theship, doing little damage, the rough weather making aiming uncertain.Again the field-piece replied. Seymour never turned his head in thedirection of the frigate. He could not look upon the catastrophe;besides, the exigency of the situation demanded that he give his wholemind to conning the ship through the narrow pass. Bentley himself,assisted by a young sailor, kept the helm; the oldest seamen had chargeof the braces. The wreck of the mizzen topgallant mast was allowed tohang for the present.
The white water dashed about the ship in sheets of foam; they were wellin the breakers now, and the most ignorant eye could see the danger.One false movement meant disaster for the ship for whose safety Seymourhad sacrificed so much. He did not make it. To his disordered fancyKatharine's white face looked up at him from every breaking wave. Hesteeled his heart and gave his orders with as much ease and precisionas if it had been a practice cruise. To the day of his death he couldnot account for his ability to do so. He made a splendid figure,standing on the horse-block, his hair flowing out in the wind, his facedeadly pale; calm, cool, steady; his voice clear and even, but heard inevery part of the ship. The heart of the old sailor at the helmyearned toward him, and the seamen looked at him as if he had been ademigod. He never once looked back, but from the cries of the men hecould follow every motion of the frigate behind him. The frigate, theunsuspicious frigate, had followed the course of the transport exactly,and was coming down to the deadly rocks like a hurricane.
Talbot, his quarrel forgotten for the moment, ceased firing, and stood,with all of the men who could be spared from their stations, lookingaft at the tremendous drama being played.
"The frigate! Look at the frigate! She 's going to strike, sir!"cried one of the seamen, excitedly,--old Thompson, who had sailed uponher. "See, they see the breakers. Now there go the head yards. Itwon't do. It's too late. My God, she strikes, she strikes! I 'llhave one more shot at her before she goes," he shrieked, taking hastyaim over the loaded field-piece and touching the priming. "Ay, and ahit too. Hurrah! hurrah! To h--l with ye, where you belong, ye--"
"Silence aft!" shouted Seymour, in a voice of thunder. "Keep fast thatgun; and another cheer like that, and I put you in irons, Thompson."
The water in the front of the Mellish suddenly became darker, thebreakers disappeared, the ship was in deep water again; she had theopen sea before her, and was through the channel.
"We are through the pass, sir," said Bentley.
"I know it," answered Seymour, at last. "I suppose there is no usebeating back around the shoal, Bentley?" he said tentatively.
"No, sir, no use; and besides in this wind we could not do it; and,sir, you know nothing will live in such a sea. Look at the Englishmannow, sir."
The captain turned at last. The frigate was a hopeless wreck. Allthree of her masts had gone by the board; she had run full on the rockyledge of the shoal at the mouth of the channel. The wind had risenuntil it blew a heavy gale; no boat, no human being, could live in sucha sea. The waters rushed over her at every sweep, and she was fastbreaking up before them. Night had fallen, and darkness at lastenshrouded her as she faded out of view. A drop of snow fell lightlyupon the cold cheek of the young sailor, and the men gazed into thenight in silence, appalled by the awful catastrophe. Bentley,understanding it all, laid his hand lightly on Seymour's arm, sayingsoftly,--
"Better clear the wreck and get the mizzen topsail and the fore andmain sail in, sir, and reef the fore and main topsails; the spars arebuckling fearfully. She can't stand much more."
"Oh, Bentley," he said with a sob, and then, mastering himself, he gavethe necessary orders to clear away the wreck and take in the othersails, and close reef the topsails, in order to put the ship in propertrim for the rising storm; after which, the wind now permitting, theship was headed for Philadelphia.
As Seymour turned to go below, he came face to face with Talbot. Thetwo men stood gazing at each other in silence.
"We still have an account to settle, Mr. Talbot," he said sternly.
"My God," said Talbot, hesitatingly, "was n't it awful? How small,Seymour, are our quarrels in the face of that!" pointing out into thedarkness,--"such a tremendous catastrophe as that is."
Seymour looked at him curiously; the man had not yet fathomed the depthof the catastrophe to him, evidently.
"As for our quarrel," he continued in a manly, generous way,"I--perhaps I was wrong, Mr. Seymour. I know I was, but I have lovedher all my life. I am sorry I spoke so, and I beg your pardon;but--won't you tell me about the note now?"
A great pity for the young man filled Seymour's heart in spite of hisown sorrow. "I loved her too," he said quietly. "The note was sent tome from Gwynn's Island, where they were confined. I had offered myselfto her the night of the raid,--just before it, in fact,--and sheaccepted me. The note was mine. Where is it?"
"Oh!" said Talbot, softly, lifting his hand to his throat, "and I lovedher too, and she is yours. Forgive me, Seymour, you won her honorably.I was too confident,--a fool. The note is gone into the sea. Wecannot quarrel about it now."
"There can be no quarrel between us now, Talbot. She is mine no morethan she is yours. She--she--" He paused, choking. "She--"
"Oh, what is it? Speak, man," cried Talbot, in sudden fear which hecould not explain. Philip Wilton had drawn near and was listeningeagerly.
"That ship there--the Radnor, you know--is lost, and all on board ofher must have perished long since."
"Yes, yes, it's awful; but what of that? what of Katharine?"
"Don't you remember the note? Colonel Wilton and she were on theRadnor."
The strain of the last hour had undermined the nervous strength of theyoung soldier. He looked
at Seymour, half dazed.
"It can't be," he murmured. "Why did you do it? How could you?" Theworld turned black before him. He reeled as if from a blow, and wouldhave fallen if Seymour had not caught him. Philip strained his gazeout over the dark water.
"Oh, my father, my father!" he cried. "Mr. Seymour, is there no hope,no chance?"
"None whatever, my boy; they are gone."
"Oh, Katharine, Katharine! Why did you do it, Seymour?" said Talbot,again.
Seymour turned away in silence. He could not reply; now that it wasdone, he had no reason.
The dim light from the binnacle lantern fell on the face of Bentley;tears were standing in the old man's eyes as he looked at them, and hesaid slowly, as if in response to Talbot's question,--
"For love of country, gentlemen."
And this, again, is war upon the sea!
For Love of Country: A Story of Land and Sea in the Days of the Revolution Page 19