"For a few years to come, though I am beginning to feel like the old hens who do but bring their children up to launch them on the waters."
"Well, it is happy if the launch can be made with hope present as well as faith; and to see what Angel has become after many vicissitudes, not confined to her first years of youth, is an immense encouragement."
To Angela's great delight, the affairs of Brown and Underwood were found to require inspection at San Francisco, as well as at Colombo, where Bernard was to put the firm into the hands of one of the Browns, who was to meet him there, and he would then be able to come home to the central office in England.
It was not expedient for Phyllis to make the voyage for so brief a stay, so it was decided that she should remain with her mother, and she declared that she should be happy about Bernard being taken care of if Angela, before settling in at Carrigaboola, would go and stay with him at Ceylon. "No one can tell the pleasure it is," she said to Magdalen, "to borrow one's own especial brother from his wife for a little while. Oh, yes, I know it goes against the grain with him, and it is right it should; but the poor old sister enjoys her treat nevertheless and notwithstanding."
There was a great family gathering at Vale Leston, including both the Harewoods; and the Bishop of Albertstown came to spend that last fortnight in England with Clement, the boy who had been committed to him as a chorister, then trained as a young deacon, and almost driven out in his inexperience to the critical charge of the neglected parish and the old squire, only to be recalled after seven years to the more important charge in London on the Bishop's appointment, there to serve till strength gave way, and he must perforce return to his former home. There was a farewell picnic of the elders at Penbeacon, merry and yet wistful in its hopeful auguries that the loved play place would be a glad and beneficial home.
It was a strange retrospect, talked over by the two old friends in deep thankfulness, yet humility over their own shortcomings and failures, and no less strange were the recollections of the wild noisy insubordinate schoolgirl whom the Bishop's sister had failed to tame, and who had to both seemed to live only on sensation, whether religious or secular, and who had been one continual care and perplexity to each. By turns they had thought that the full Church system acted as a hotbed on her peculiar temperament, and at others they had thought it only an alternative to the amusements of vanity and flirtation. Each had felt himself a failure with regard to her, and had hoped for a fresh start from each crisis of repentance, notably, from the death of Felix, only to be disappointed by some fresh aberration.
However, in Queensland, her work had been noble, and thoroughly effective in many cases; it had involved much self-denial and even danger, and though these might agree with her native spirit of adventure, there had likewise been not fitful, but steadily earnest devotion in her convent life, as well as the tenderest reverent care of Mother Constance in a long and painful decline, and therewith a steady cheerful influence which had immensely assisted the growth of Fulbert's character. For some years past, Sister Angela had been not a care, but a trusty helper to the Bishop; and the later trials and difficulties, especially the sore rending of the tie with the being she had come to love with all the force of her strong nature, had been borne in a manner that bore witness to the subduing of that over-rebellious and vehement spirit.
And, as she said to Geraldine on the last evening as they bade good-night, "This has been the very happiest time I ever spent here- yes, happier than in those exultant days of new possession and liberty. Oh, yes, all experiments, as it were, bold ventures, self-reproach and failure, defiance and fun, and then-oh, the ache I would not confess, the glory of being provoking, and, oh, the final anguish I brought on myself and on you all; and I went on, when it began to wear away, still stifling the sting which revived whenever I came home, and all was renewed! Really, whenever I shammed it was only remorse. I don't think that real repentance, and the peace after it, began till those quiet days with dear Mother Constance."
"And is it peace now?"
"Yes, I think so. Even the parting with my child has not torn me up. I can say it is well-far better than leaving her, far better, indeed! And Felix is what he meant to be, my treasure, not my accuser. Oh, I am glad to have been at home, and made it all up, to bear away-and leave with you the sense of Peace."
All who had loved and feared for her were very happy over her when all joined in that farewell service on her own birthday, St. Michael and All Angels' Day.
The party were joined by Dolores and Wilfred at Liverpool; Bernard having undertaken to establish the latter at Colombo in hands as safe as might be.
CHAPTER XXX-THE MAIDEN ROCKS
"What need we more if hearts be true,
Our voyage safe, our port in view."
- KEBLE.
A telegram that a steamer had been wrecked on the Maiden Rocks filled three homes with dismay. The rocks were sought out in maps, and found to be specks lying between County Antrim and Scotland-no doubt terrible in their reality.
Another day brought something more definite. It was the Afra,-"wrecked in the fog of October 11th. Boats got off."
That was all; but a day's post brought letters, of which the fullest was from Dolores:
"CORNCASTLE, LARNE, CO. ANTRIM, IRELAND,
October 12.
"DEAREST AUNT LILY,-
"I trust Phyllis has by this time heard from Bernard, as I heard him called on, as a good oarsman, to go in the first boat, and we saw Angela's bonnet. We-that is Wilfred, Nag, and the Bishop-are all safe here, with eight or nine others. Will will do well, I trust. He quite owes his life to Nag. This is how it was: We had not long been out of the Mersey before an impenetrable fog came down upon us, and we could not see across the deck; but on we went, on what proved to be our blind way, till, after a night and day, just as we were getting up from dinner, there came a hideous shock and concussion, throwing us all about the room; and in less than a minute it was repeated, with horrible crackings, tearings, yells and shouts. No one needed to tell us what it meant, and down came the call, 'Don't wait to save your things, only wraps, ladies! Up on deck! Life-belts if you can!' I remember Bernard standing at the top of the ladder, helping us up, and somehow, I understand from him, that we were on a reef, and might either remain there, and sink, or be washed off. The fog was clearing, and there was a dim light up high, somewhere, one of the lighthouses, I believe. I don't quite know how it all went; I think we kept in the background, round the Bishop, and that a boat full of emigrant women was put off. I know there were only about half a dozen women left, who had been crying and refusing to leave their husbands; and about thirty altogether, men and women, were somehow got into our boat with the chief mate; the Bishop all consolation and prayer; poor Wilfred limp, cold and trembling, for he had been very seasick till the last moment, when Bernard pulled him out of his berth, and put him into a lifebelt. The sea was not very rough, with an east wind; but the mate said the current was so strong he could make no way against it. It would bring us on to the Irish cliffs, and then, God help us! Knowing what that coast is, I thought there was no hope; and as it was beginning to grow light there rose an awful wall, all black and white, ready to close upon us; but just as I set my teeth and tried to recollect prayers, or follow the Bishop's, but I could only squeeze Agatha harder and harder, there was a fresh shouting among the men, and the boat was heaved up in a fearful way, then down. It was tide, and we were near upon breakers; but there were answering shouts, or so they said-I believe a line was thrown, and a light shown. But as the boat rose again, Nag and I expected to be hurled on the rocks the next moment, and clung together. But instead-though the waves had almost torn us asunder- we were lying on a stony beach, and human hands were dragging at us- voices calling and shouting about our not being dead. God had helped us! We had been carried into a clift where there is a coastguard station; and the good men had come down and were helping us on shore. But before I well knew anything, Agatha was on her feet; I heard h
er cry 'Wilfred, Wilfred!' and then I saw her dragging him, quite like a dead thing, out of the surf, just in time before another great wave rushed in which would have washed them both back, if a man had not grappled her at the very moment, calling out, 'Let go, let go, he's a dead man!' She did not let go; when the wave broke, happily, just short of them, and another came to help, and saved them from being sucked back. Then the Bishop came and assured us that he was alive, and got the men to carry him up to the coastguard cottages; indeed, it was an awful escape; for of our boatload most were lost altogether, three lie dead, dashed against the rock, and two more, the mate one of them, have broken limbs. Wilfred was unconscious for a long time, at least an hour; but by the help of spoonfuls of whiskey he came round to a dreamy kind of state, and he does not seem to suffer much; and the Bishop, the Preventive man and Nag all are sure no limbs are broken, but he seems incapable of movement except his hands. It may be only jar upon the spine, and go off in another day or two; but we do not dare to send for a doctor, or anything else, indeed, till we have some money; for we all of us have lost everything except five shillings in my pocket and two in Nag's. Even our wraps were washed off-I believe Agatha gave hers to a shivering woman in the boat. The Bishop, too, gave away his coat, forgetting to secure his purse. But the people are very kind to us-North, or Scotch Irish Presbyterians, I think-for they don't seem to know what to make of his being a Bishop when they found he was not R.C., though they call him His Reverence. Please send us an order to get cashed, at Larne, six miles off, where this is posted. Wilfred lies on the good Preventive woman's bed, clean and fairly comfortable, and they have made a shake-down in their parlour for Nag and me. The Bishop says he is well off, but I believe he is always looking after the mate and the other man in the other house, and sleeps, if at all, in a chair. Nag is the nurse. She had ambulance lessons, you know, when at the High School, and profited by them more than I ever did, and Wilfred likes to have her about him, and when he is dazed, as he always is at first waking, he calls her Vera. But don't be uneasy about him, dear Aunt Lily. Deadly sea-sickness, a night of tossing and cold, and then this terrible landing may well upset him, and probably he will be on his legs by the time you get this letter.
"I find our disaster was on the Maiden Rocks, a horrible group, I only wonder that any one gets past them. There are five of them, the wicked Sirens, and three have lighthouses, but not very efficient ones, and apt to disappear in the fog, and there are reefs beneath on one of which we came to grief. The folk here think a wreck on these Maidens absolutely fatal, so we cannot be but most thankful for being alive, though it is a worse experience than the Rotuma earthquake.
"Fergus would think the place worth all we have undergone. The crags are wonderful, chalk at the bottom, basalt above, and of course all round to the Giant's Causeway it is finer still. Well may we, as the Bishop is always doing, give thanks that we were taken, by the Divine Hand guiding tide and current, to this milder and less inhospitable opening.
"We can afford to dispense with less majesty, for one of those finer cliffs would have been our destruction.
"This is going to Larne, where there is a railway station and something of a town, and the Bishop has written to the doctor of the place. I will write again when he has been here. I hope to send you another and more cheery account to-morrow, or whenever post goes.
"Nag is writing to her sister. I trust you will have heard of Bernard and Angela. Their boat was a better one than ours, and certainly got off safely. Let us know as soon you can.
"Your most loving niece,
"D. M. MOHUN."
Agatha had also written to Magdalen, very briefly, to assure her of her safety and thankfulness, and to say she could not leave Wilfred till more efficient care arrived, or till she had means to come back with. She was evidently too busy over her patient to have much possibility of writing, even if she had paper, which seemed to be scarce at Corncastle.
The Bishop also wrote to Clement, and to Sir Jasper and others; but he also could say little, only that he trusted that Angela and Bernard were safe elsewhere, having heard them called, and, as he believed, seen them off in the first boat, so that probably they had been already heard of before these letters arrived. Their own party had been spared from being dashed against the rocks almost by a miracle; and Agatha Prescott's courage and readiness, as now her nursing faculties, were beyond all praise, as indeed was the brave patience of Miss Mohun. He could only look on and be thankful, and hope for tidings of those who were as his own children. The next day's letters spoke of the doctor as so much perplexed about Wilfred, and nothing had been heard at Larne of the other boats.
But no tidings came; there was too much cause to fear that the first boat had been borne away by the currents and swamped. Lady Merrifield could not leave Phyllis in such a crisis of suspense, and Sir Jasper was hardly fit for such a journey, so that his wife was much relieved when her brother, General Mohun, came to Clipstone, and undertook to hasten out to Corncastle, with money and appliances, including a nurse.
"Oh, Reggie, always good at need! I hardly dare to send my good old Halfpenny-!"
"No, Mamma, send me. You know I had the ambulance lessons with Nag," said Mysie, "and we could get a real nurse from Belfast or Dublin, if it was wanted."
So it was arranged, and uncle and niece started, but hope faded more and more! Were those two precious young lives so early quenched?
CHAPTER XXXI-THE WRECK
"How purer were earth, if all its martyrdoms,
If all its struggling sighs of sacrifice
Were swept away!"
E. HAMILTON KING.
No tidings of Bernard and Angela. The suspense began to diminish into "wanhope" or despair; and the brothers and sisters continued to say that they were sorry above all for Phyllis, whose gentle sweetness had made her one with them.
But at last, one forenoon, a telegram was put into Clement's hand, dated from Ewmouth:
Muriel Ellen, Ewmouth Harbour, October 14th. Blaine to Rev. Underwood. Brother here. Come to infirmary.
Clement and Geraldine lost no time in driving to the infirmary, too anxious to speak to one another. Blaine's name was known to them as a Gwenworth lad, who had gone to sea, and risen to be sailing master of the Muriel Ellen, a trader plying between Londonderry and Bristol. He, with another, who proved to be the American captain of the Afra, were at the gate of the hospital, where an ambulance had just entered.
"Oh! Sir," as Clement held out his hand, "I could not save her. I'd have given my life!"
"My brother?" as Clement returned his grasp fervently.
"We've just got him in here, Sir. I hope! I hope! And here's the doctor."
The house surgeon, who, of course, knew the Rector of Vale Leston, met him with, "Best see him before we touch him, it will set his mind at rest-You must be prepared, Sir-No, better not you, Mrs. Grinstead."
Clement followed in silence, leaving Geraldine to the care of the matron. All he was allowed to see was a ghastly, death-like face and form, covered with rugs, lying prostrate on a mattress; but as he came in, at the sound of his step, there was a quiver of recognition, the eyes opened and looked up, the lips moved, and as Clement bent down with a kiss, there was a faint sound gasped out, "Telegraph to Clipstone."
"I will, I will at once."
"It was noble!" Then was added, "She gave herself for the Bishop, for me." Then the eyes closed, and unconsciousness seemed to prevail. Some one came and put Clement aside, saying-
"Go now, Sir; you shall hear!"
Clement, who thought it might be death, would have stayed at hand; but he was turned away, and could only murmur an inarticulate blessing and prayer, as he meant to fulfil the earnest desire that was thought to have been conned over and over again by Bernard, as these half sentences recurred again and again in semi-consciousness. His telegram despatched, Clement returned to his sister, to hear from the two masters all they had to tell. Captain Miller, of the Afra, had slight hurts, which had been
looked to before he should take the train for London; and Blaine had waited to tell his story before pursuing his voyage to Bristol, both, indeed, to hear the report of the patient, and likewise to collect the news of the few who had been landed at Corncastle, to the great relief of Captain Miller; but of the first boat there were no tidings, and Blaine thought there was little probability that it had not sunk or been dashed against the crags of the savage coast.
Captain Miller's account was, that not long after leaving the Mersey, there had set in an impenetrable fog, lasting for a night and a day. There was perhaps some confusion as to charts, and the scarcely visible lights upon the Maidens. At any rate, the Afra had suddenly struck on a reef, and, shifting at once, had been hopelessly rent, so as to leave no hope save in the boats. Every one seemed to have behaved with the resolute fortitude and unselfishness generally shown by English and Americans in the like circumstances. The sea was not in a dangerous state, and there was a steady east wind, so that the boats were lowered without much difficulty, and most of the women disposed of in the first.
Before the second could be put off however, the water had reached the fires; there was a violent lurch, the ship had heeled completely over, washing many overboard, and of course causing a great confusion among those who had been steady before, and making the deck almost perpendicular. The captain, however, succeeded in lowering another boat, and putting into it, as he trusted, the few remaining women, the Bishop, and most of the men. This was, of course, that which had safely reached Corncastle, and of which he only now heard. The last boat was so overcrowded that he, with three of his crew, had thought it best to remain for the almost desperate chance of being picked up before they sank.
He had supposed Mr. Underwood had been washed overboard in the heeling over of the ship, and that his sister had been put into the first boat; but presently he heard a call.
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