by Jane Porter
Chapter XXVII.
The Frith of Clyde.
At Gourock, Murray engage two small vessels; one for the earl andcountess, with Wallace as their escort; the other for himself andEdwin, to follow with a few of the men.
It was a fine evening, and they embarked with everything in theirfavor. The boatmen calculated on reaching Bute in a few hours; but erethey had been half an hour at sea, the wind, veering about, obligedthem to woo its breezes by a traversing motion, which, though itlengthened their voyage, increased its pleasantness by carrying themoften within near views of the ever-varying shores. Sailing under aside-wind, they beheld the huge irregular rocks of Dunoon, overhangingthe ocean; while from their projecting brows hung every shrub which canlive in that saline atmosphere.
"There," whispered Lady mar, gently inclining toward Wallace, "mightthe beautiful mermaid of Corie Vrekin keep her court! Observe howmagnificently those arching cliffs overhang the hollows, and how richlythey are studded with shells and sea-flowers!"
No flower of the field or of the ocean that came within the ken ofWallace, wasted its sweetness unadmired. He assented to the remarks ofLady Mar, who continued to expatiate on the beauties of the shoreswhich they passed; and thus the hours flew pleasantly away, till,turning the southern point of the Cowal Mountains, the scene suddenlychanged. The wind, which had gradually been rising, blew a violentgale from that part of the coast; and the sea, being pent between therocks which skirt the continent and the northern side of Bute, becameso boisterous, that the boatmen began to think they should be drivenupon the rocks of the island, instead of reaching its bay. Wallacetore down the sails, and laying his nervous arms to the oar, assistedto keep the vessel off the breakers, against which the waves weredriving her. The sky collected into a gloom; and while the teemingclouds seemed descending even to rest upon the cracking masts, theswelling of the ocean threatened to heave her up into their very bosoms.
Lady Mar looked with affright at the gathering tempest, and withdifficulty was persuaded to retire under the shelter of a littleawning. The earl forgot his debility in the general terror; and triedto reassure the boatmen. But a tremendous sweep of the gale, drivingthe vessel far across the head of Bute, shot her past the mouth of LochFyne, toward the perilous rocks of Arran. "Here our destruction iscertain!" cried the master of the bark, at the same time confessing hisignorance of the navigation on this side of the island. Lord Mar,seizing the helm from the stupefied master, called to Wallace, "Whileyou keep the men to their duty," cried he, "I will steer."
The earl being perfectly acquainted with the coast, Wallace gladly sawthe helm in his hand. But he had scarcely stepped forward himself togive some necessary directions, when a heavy sea, breaking over thedeck, carried two of the poor mariners overboard. Wallace instantlythrew out a couple of ropes. Then, amidst a spray so blinding that thevessel appeared in a cloud, and while buffeted on each side by theraging of waves, which seemed contending to tear her to pieces, she layto for a few minutes, to rescue the men from the yawning gulf; onecaught a rope and was saved, but the other was seen no more.
Again the bark was set loose to the current. Wallace, now with tworowers only, applied his whole strength to their aid. The master andthe third man were employed in the unceasing toil of laying out theaccumulating water.
While the anxious chief tugged at the oar, and watched the thousandembattled cliffs which threatened destruction, his eye looked for thevessel that contained his friends. But the liquid mountains whichrolled around him prevented all view; and, with hardly a hope of seeingthem again, he pursued his attempt to preserve the lives of thosecommitted to his care.
All this while Lady Mar lay in a state of stupefaction. Having faintedat the first alarm of danger, she had fallen from swoon to swoon, andnow remained almost insensible upon the bosoms of her maids. In amoment the vessel struck with a great shock, and the next instant itseemed to move with a velocity incredible. "The whirpool! thewhirlpool!" resounded from every lip. But again the rapid motion wassuddenly checked, and the women, fancying they had struck on the VrekinRock, shrieked aloud. The cry, and the terrified words whichaccompanied it, aroused Lady Mar. She started from her trance, and,while the confusion redoubled, rushed toward the dreadful scene.
The mountainous waves and lowering clouds, borne forward by the blast,anticipated the dreariness of night. The last rays of the setting sunhad long passed away, and the deep shadows of the driving heavens castthe whole into a gloom, even more terrific than absolute darkness;while the high and beetling rocks, towering aloft in precipitous walls,mocked the hopes of the sea-beaten mariner, should he even buffet thewaters to reach their base; and the jagged shingles, deeply shelvingbeneath the waves, or projecting their pointed summits upward, showedthe crew where the rugged death would meet them.
A little onward, a thousand massy fragments, rent by former tempestsfrom their parent cliffs, lay at the foundations of the immenseacclivities which faced the cause of their present alarm--a whirlpoolalmost as terrific as that of Scarba. The moment the powerful blastdrove the vessel within the influence of the outward edge of the firstcircle of the vortex. Wallace leaped from the deck on the rocks, and,with the same rope in his hand with which he had saved the life of theseaman, he called to the two men to follow him, who yet held similarropes, fastened like his own to the prow of the vessel; and beingobeyed, they strove by towing it along, to stem the suction of thecurrent.
It was at this instant that Lady Mar rushed forward upon deck.
"In for your life, Joanna!" exclaimed the earl. She answered him not,but looked wildly around her. Nowhere could she see Wallace.
"Have I drowned him?" cried she, in a voice of frenzy, and striking thewomen from her, who would have held her back. "Let me clasp him, evenin the deep waters!"
Happily, the earl lost the last sentence in the roaring of the storm.
"Wallace, Wallace!" cried she, wringing her hands, and still strugglingwith her women. At that moment a huge wave, sinking before her,discovered the object of her fears, straining along the surface of arock, and followed by the men in the same laborious task, tuggingforward the ropes to which the bark was attached. She gazed at themwith wonder and affright, for, notwithstanding the beating of theelements (which seeming to find their breasts of iron and their feetarmed with some preternatural adhesion to the cliff), they continued tobear resolutely onward. Fortunately, they did not now labor againstthe wind. Sometimes they pressed forward on the level edge of therock; then a yawning chasm forced them to leap from cliff to cliff, orto spring on some more elevated projection. Thus, contending with thevortex and the storm, they at last arrived at the doubling ofCuthonrock,** the point that was to clear them of this minor CorieVrekin. But at that crisis the rope which Wallace held broke, and,with the shock, he fell backward into the sea. The foremost manuttered a dreadful cry; but ere it could be echoed by his fellows,Wallace had risen above the waves, and, beating their whelming waterswith his invincible arm, soon gained the vessel and jumped upon thedeck. The point was doubled, but the next moment the vessel struck,and in a manner that left no hope of getting her off. All must take tothe water or perish, for the second shock would scatter her piecemeal.
**Cuthon means the mournful sound of waves.
Again Lady Mar appeared. At sight of Wallace she forgot everything buthim; and perhaps would have thrown herself into his arms, had not theanxious earl caught her in his own.
"Are we to die?" cried she to Wallace, in a voice of horror.
"I trust that God has decreed otherwise," was his reply. "Composeyourself; all may yet be well."
Lord Mar, from his yet unhealed wounds, could not swim; Wallacetherefore tore up the benches of the rowers, and binding them into theform of a small raft, made it the vehicle for the earl and countess,with her two maids and the child. While the men were towing it, andbuffeting with it through the breakers, he too threw himself into thesea to swim by its side, and be in readiness in case of accide
nt.
Having gained the shore, or rather the broken rocks, that lie at thefoot of the stupendous craigs which surround the Isle of Arran, Wallaceand his sturdy assistants conveyed the countess and her terrified womenup their acclivities. Fortunately for the shipwrecked voyagers, thoughthe wind raged, its violence was of some advantage, for it nearlycleared the heavens of clouds, and allowed the moon to send forth herguiding light. By her lamp one of the men discovered the mouth of acavern, where Wallace gladly sheltered his dripping charges.
The child, whom he had guarded in his own arms during the difficultascent, he now laid on the bosom of its mother. Lady mar kissed thehand that relinquished it, and gave way to a flood of grateful tears.
The earl, as he sunk almost powerless against the side of the cave, yethad strength enough to press Wallace to his heart. "Ever preserver ofme and mine!" cried he, "how must I bless thee!-My wife, my child-"
"Have been saved to you, my friend," interrupted Wallace, "by thepresiding care of Him who walked the waves! Without His especial armwe must all have perished in this awful night; therefore let ourthanksgivings be directed to Him alone."
"So be it!" returned the earl, and dropping on his knees, he breathedforth so pathetic and sublime a prayer of thanks, that the countesstrembled, and bent her head upon the bosom of her child. She could notutter the solemn Amen, that was repeated by every voice in the cave.Her unhappy infatuation saw no higher power in this great preservationthan the hand of the man she adored. She felt that guilt was cherishedin her heart; and she could not lift her eyes to join with those who,with the boldness of innocence, called on Heaven to attest the sanctityof their vows.
Sleep soon sealed every weary eye, excepting those of Wallace. Aracking anxiety respecting the fate of the other vessel, in which werethe brave men of Bothwell, and his two dear friends, filled his mindwith dreadful forebodings that they had not outlived the storm.Sometimes, when wearied nature for a few minutes sunk into slumber, hewould start, grief-struck, from the body of Edwin floating on the brinyflood, and as he awoke, a cold despondence would tell him that hisdream was, perhaps, too true. "Oh! I love thee, Edwin!" exclaimed heto himself; "and if my devoted heart was to be separated from all but apatriot's love!-why did I think of loving thee?-must thou, too, die,that Scotland may have no rival, that Wallace may feel himself quitealone!"
Thus he sat musing, and listening, with many a sigh, to the yellinggusts of wind, and louder roaring of the water. At last the formergradually subsided, and the latter, obeying the retreating ride, rolledaway in hoarse murmurs.
Morning began to dawn, and spreading upon the mountains of the oppositeshore, shed a soft light over their misty sides. All was tranquil andfull of beauty. That element, which so lately in its rage hadthreatened to ingulf them all, now flowed by the rocks at the foot ofthe cave in gentle undulations; and where the spiral cliffs gave alittle resistance, the rays of the rising sun, striking on the burstingwaves, turned their vapory showers into dropping gems.
While his companions were still wrapped in sleep, Wallace stole away toseek some knowledge respecting the part of the Isle of Arran on whichthey were cast. Close by the mouth of the cave he discovered a cleftin the rock, into which he turned, and finding the upward footingsufficiently secure, clambered to the summit. Looking around, he foundhimself at the skirt of a chain of high hills, which seemed to stretchfrom side to side over the island, while their tops, in alpinesuccession, rose in a thousand grotesque and pinnacled forms. Theptarmigan and capercailzie were screaming from those upper regions; andthe nimble roes, with their fawns, bounding through the green defilesbelow. No trace of human habitation appeared; but from the size andknown population of the island, he knew he could not be far frominhabitants; and thinking it best to send the boatmen in search ofthem, he retraced his steps. The morning vapors were fast rollingtheir snowy wreaths down the opposite mountains, whose heads, shiningin resplendent purple, seemed to view themselves in the brightreflections of the now smooth sea. Nature, like a proud conqueror,appeared to have put on a triumphal garb, in exultation of thedevastation she had committed the night before. Wallace shuddered, asthe parallel occurred to his mind, and turned from the scene.
On re-entering the cave he dispatched the seamen, and disposed himselfto watch by the sides of his still sleeping friends. An hour hardlyhad elapsed before the men returned, bringing with them a large boatand its proprietor. But, alas! no tidings of Murray and Edwin, whom hehad hoped might have been driven somewhere on the island. In bringingthe boat round to the creek under the rock, the men discovered that thesea had driven their wreck between two projecting rocks, where it nowlay wedged. Though ruined as a vessel, sufficient held together towarrant their exertions to save the property. Accordingly they enteredit, and drew thence most of the valuables which belonged to Lord Mar.
While this was doing, Wallace reascended to the cave, and finding theearl awake, told him a boat was ready for their re-embarkation. "Butwhere, my friend, are my nephews?" inquired he; "Alas! has this fatalexpedition robbed me of them?"
Wallace tried to inspire him with a hope he scarcely dare credithimself, that they had been saved on some more distant shore. Thevoices of the chiefs awakened the women, but the countess still slept.Aware that she would resist trusting herself to the waves again, LordMar desired that she might be moved on board without disturbing her.This was readily done, the men having only to take up the extremitiesof the plaid on to the boat. The earl received her head on his bosom.All were then on board, the rowers struck their oars, and once more thelittle party found themselves launched upon the sea.
While they were yet midway between the isles, with a bright sun playingits sparkling beams upon the gently rippling waves, the countess,heaving a deep sigh, slowly opened her eyes. All around glared withthe light of day; she felt the motion of the boat, and raising herhead, saw that she was again embarked on the treacherous element onwhich she had lately experienced so many terrors. She grew deadlypale, and grasped her husband's hand. "My dear Joanna," cried he, "benot alarmed, we are all safe."
"And Sir William Wallace has left us?" demanded she.
"No, madam," answered a voice from the steerage, "not till this partyis safe at Bute do I quit it."
She looked round with a grateful smile; "Ever generous! How could Ifor a moment doubt our preserver?"
Wallace bowed, but remained silent; and they passed calmly along tillthe vessel came in sight of a birling,** which, bounding over thewaves, was presently so near the earl's, that the figures in each couldbe distinctly seen. In it the chiefs, to their rapturous surprise,beheld Murray and Edwin. The latter, with a cry of joy, leaped intothe sea; the next instant he was over the boat's side, and clasped inthe arms of Wallace. Real transport, true happiness, now dilated theheart of the before desponding chief. He pressed the dear boy againand again to his bosom, and kissed his white forehead with all therapture of the fondest brother. "Thank God! thank God!" was all thatEdwin could say; while, at every effort to tear himself from Wallace,to congratulate his uncle on his safety, his heart overflowing towardhis friend, opened afresh, and he clung the closer to his breast; tillat last, exhausted with happiness, the little hero of Dumbarton gaveway to the sensibility of his tender age, and the chief felt his bosomwet with the joy--drawn tears of his youthful banneret.
While this was passing, the birling had drawn close to the boat; andMurray, shaking hands with his uncle and aunt, exclaimed to Wallace,"That urchin is such a monopolizer, I see you have not a greeting forany one else." On this Edwin raised his face, and turned to theaffectionate welcomes of Lord Mar. Wallace stretched out his hand tothe ever-gay Lord Andrew; and, inviting him into the boat, soonlearned, that on the portentous beginning of the storm, Murray'scompany made direct to the nearest creek in Bute, being better seamenthan Wallace's helmsman who, until danger stopped him, had foolishlycontinued to aim for Rothsay. By this prudence, without having been inmuch peril, or sustained any fatigue, Murray's
party had landed safely.The night came on dark and tremendous; but not doubting that theearl's rowers had carried him into a similar haven, the young chief andhis companion kept themselves very easy in a fisher's hut till morning.At an early hour, they then put themselves at the head of the Bothwellmen; and, expecting they should come up with Wallace and his party atRothsay, walked over to the castle. Their consternation wasunutterable when they found that Lord Mar was not there, threwthemselves into a birling, to seek their friends upon the seas; andwhen they did espy them, the joy of Edwin was so great, that not eventhe unfathomable gulf could stop him from flying to the embrace of hisfriend.
**Birling is a small boat generally used by fishers.
While mutual felicitations passed, the boats, now nearly side by side,reached the shore; and the seamen, jumping on the rocks, moored theirvessels under the projecting towers of Rothsay. The old stewardhastened to receive a master who had not blessed his aged eyes for manya year; a master who had the infant in his arms that was to be thefuture representative of the house of Mar, he wept aloud. The earlspoke to him affectionately, and then walked on with Edwin, whom hecalled to support him up the bank. Murray led the countess out of theboat; while the Bothwell men so thronged about Wallace, congratulatingthemselves on his safety, that she saw there was no hope of his armbeing then offered to her.
Having entered the castle, the steward led them into a room, in whichhe had spread a plentiful repast. Here Murray (having recounted theadventures of his voyage) called for a history of what had befallen hisfriends. The earl gladly took up the tale, and, with many a glance ofgratitude to Wallace, narrated the perilous events of their shipwreck,and providential preservation on the Isle of Arran.
Happiness now seemed to, have shed her heavenly influence over everybosom. All hearts owned the grateful effects of the late rescue. Therapturous joy of Edwin burst into a thousand sallies of ardent andluxurious imagination. The high spirits of Murray turned everytransient subject into a "mirth-moving jest". The veteran earl seemedrestored to health and to youth; and Wallace felt the sun ofconsolation expanding in his bosom. He had met a heart, though a youngone, on which his soul might repose; that dear selected brother of hisaffection was saved from the whelming waves; and all his superstitiousdreams of a mysterious doom vanished before this manifestation ofheavenly goodness. His friend, too, the gallant Murray, was spared.How many subjects had he for unmurmuring gratitude! And with anunclouded brow and a happy spirit, he yielded to the impulse of thescene. He smiled; and, with an endearing graciousness, listened toevery fond speaker; while his own ingenuous replies bespoke thetreasures of love which sorrow, in her cruelest aspect, had lockedwithin his heart.
The complacency with which he regarded every one--the pouring out of hisbeneficent spirit, which seemed to embrace all, like his dearestkindred--turned every eye and heart toward him, as to the source ofevery bliss; as to a being who seemed made to love, and be beloved byevery one. Lady mar looked at him, listened to him, with her rapt soulseated in her eyes. In his presence all was transport.
But when he withdrew for the night, what was then the state of herfeelings! The overflowing of heart he felt for all, she appropriatedsolely for herself. The sweetness of his voice, the unutterableexpression of his countenance, while, as he spoke, he veiled his eyesunder their long brown lashes, had raised such vague hopes in herbosom, that--he being gone--she hastened her adieus to the rest, eager toretire to bed, and there uninterruptedly muse on the happiness ofhaving at last touched the heart of a man for whom she would resign theworld.