_ CHAPTER TWO.
It was what sailors call a "dirty night." When you looked out upon the sea, it seemed as if there were nothing there but horrible darkness. If you went down to the beach, however,--close under the fishing village of Sunland--you found that there was just enough of light to make the darkness visible.
Tremendous waves came rolling madly into the bay, their white crests gleaming against the black sky until they came down like thunder on the sand. The wind roared and whistled over the bay, cutting off the foam-tops of the billows, and hurling them against the neighbouring cliffs. Mingled rain and hail filled the shrieking blast, and horrid uproar seemed to revel everywhere.
"God have mercy on those at sea," was uttered by many a lip that night. It was a most suitable prayer! Some there were, doubtless, who uttered it with a little shudder as they turned in their beds, but said and did nothing more. Others there were, weak in body perhaps, but strong in spirit, who reflected, with some degree of comfort, that they had given of their gold to help those whose business it is to help the perishing. And there were others who had little gold to give, but who gladly gave their strong, stalwart bodies, and risked their precious lives to save the perishing.
Many of these last were on the beach at Sunland that night, with oilskin coats and caps, cowering in the lee of boats and rocks, or leaning against the furious gale as they tried to gaze out to sea through the blinding sleet and spray.
Among these fishermen were two young men--tall and strong--who seemed to despise shelter, and stood at the very edge of the raging sea. One was a black-bearded man of the Coastguard. The other, as his dress betokened, was a Jack-tar of the Royal Navy.
"There, she shows a light," said the naval youth, as a flame, like that of a blazing tar-barrel, shot suddenly up against the dark sky and showed the rigging of a wreck, far out in the bay where the war of wind and waves was fiercest.
Scarcely had this light appeared when the Coastguardsman laid his hand on the young sailor's shoulder and pointed towards the cliffs far away to the left of the bay. There a rocket had cut the heavens with a line of vivid fire. While they gazed, another sprang up into the sky.
"A vessel on the rocks!" said the Coastguardsman, (he had to shout in the other's ear, so loud was the gale); "my duty lies there. Will you go with me, or stay to see the lifeboat start?"
"I'll stick by the lifeboat," shouted the man-of-war's man, and they parted.
Ah! it was grand to see that lifeboat go into action. She could be easily seen, though the night was so dark, for she was painted pure white and bright blue, with a scarlet strip round her--a "thing of light," but by no means a light thing! She was so large, and stout, and heavy, that she required a strong carriage on four wheels to transport her from her boat-house to the edge of the sea, which foamed, and hissed, and leaped up at her bow as if to taste the morsel which it hoped soon to swallow.
While the boat was yet on its carriage, her stout coxswain, or captain, clambered in.
"Now then, my jolly volunteers," he shouted, "jump up, and on wi' your life-belts."
At that word our handsome young sailor laid his hands on the edge of the boat and vaulted into her as if he had been made of india-rubber. Ten more men followed his example, and quickly put on their belts.
"Nobody's allowed to go off without a life-belt," said the coxswain to the young sailor, "besides, it's against rules to let you go."
"How's that?" asked the youth; "you called for volunteers."
"Yes, but our volunteer-crew is already made up, so you must jump out. Thank you all the same, my fine fellow."
The man-of-war's man was too well disciplined to think of resistance, even for a moment. With a look of disappointment and an active bound, he leaped out upon the sand.
At that moment one of the men raised an oar, which was blown round by a sudden blast, and its end struck another of the crew on the temple, rendering him almost insensible. He had to be put out at once, and another volunteer was called for. Like a flash of light, our youthful seaman again vaulted into the boat. His services were now accepted, and a cork life-belt was given to him, which he quickly put on.
Meanwhile crowds of men, and even some women and boys, stood ready at the launching-ropes. The word was given. There was a strong and a long pull altogether, and the lifeboat sprang into the sea as if it had been alive, with her crew seated and the oars out. A huge wave caught her bow and raised her up almost perpendicular. She seemed as if about to dance a reel upon her rudder. Our man-of-war's man had rode in many a wild sea, but never before had he seen the like of that. Nevertheless, he clung to his seat like a limpet, and pulled at his oar with all his might. The others were more accustomed to that special work. Just as she seemed about to topple over, the boat dropped forward and plunged out to sea. The next wave caught her in the same way, but with less power. Another stroke of the short, stout oars, and they had got fairly off into deep water.
Then did the heart of the young sailor beat wildly, for, besides rejoicing in that fierce struggle with the storm, he knew that his mission was one of mercy as well as danger. But how much more wildly did his heart beat when he reached the wreck, and, by the light of the blazing tar-barrel, beheld about twenty human beings--some of them women and children--clinging to the wreck, which was buried in foaming water by every sea.
One by one they were got into the lifeboat with great difficulty. Then the boat was pushed off and rowed towards the land. What a deep-toned shout there was on shore when her light form was dimly seen coming in on the crest of a great billow! And what a mighty cheer rang out when she drew closer, and the man at the bow-oar stood up and cried, "Thank God, _all_ saved!"
Just then a monster wave fell on the stern of the boat and filled it. One little girl was swept overboard and went away with the backward rush of water, as the boat was hauled out of danger. Every one saw this, and a terrible cry went up, but only one man moved. Our young sailor sprang after the child. He knew that it was almost certain death to enter that surf without a rope, but a spirit of self-sacrifice--founded on the great example of Jesus--urged him on. He had no time to think--only to act. He caught the child and was dragged along with her into the wild sea. At that moment another Coastguardsman, who chanced to be a friend of the man-of-war's man, came upon the scene. Seeing what had occurred, he seized the end of a rope which some men had just brought down, tied it round his waist, dashed into the sea, caught the sailor and the girl in the wide grasp of his strong arms--and then all three were hauled to the land in safety.
The poor child was nearly insensible, and had to be carried to a neighbouring cottage; and the young sailor staggered so from exhaustion that his friend and another man were obliged to support him as he went.
"Who is he?" inquired one of the fisherwomen, as she followed behind.
The Coastguardsman looked over his shoulder with a proud glance in his sparkling eye, and said aloud, "His name is Richard Thorogood."
A statement which was received with three loud and ringing cheers. _