FullReads

“But by’m-by, between two squalls, he made bold to lift his head and look, and then by the light–a bluish colour ’twas–he saw all the coast clear away to Manacle Point, and off the Manacles, in the thick of the weather, a sloop-of-war with top-gallants housed, driving stern foremost towards the reef. It was she, of course, that was burning the flare. My father could see the white streak and the ports of her quite plain as she rose to it, a little outside the breakers, and he guessed easy enough that her captain had just managed to wear ship, and was trying to force her nose to the sea with the help of her small bower anchor and the scrap or two of canvas that hadn’t yet been blown out of her. But while he looked, she fell off, giving her broadside to it foot by foot, and drifting back on the breakers around Carn du and the Varses. The rocks lie so thick thereabouts, that ’twas a toss up which she struck first; at any rate, my father couldn’t tell at the time, for just then the flare died down and went out.

“Well, sir, he turned then in the dark and started back for Coverack to cry the dismal tidings–though well knowing ship and crew to be past any hope; and as he turned, the wind lifted him and tossed him forward ‘like a ball,’ as he’d been saying, and homeward along the foreshore. As you know, ’tis ugly work, even by daylight, picking your way among the stones there, and my father was prettily knocked about at first in the dark. But by this ’twas nearer seven than six o’clock, and the day spreading. By the time he reached North Corner, a man could see to read print; hows’ever, he looked neither out to sea nor towards Coverack, but headed straight for the first cottage– the same that stands above North Corner to-day. A man named Billy Ede lived there then, and when my father burst into the kitchen bawling, ‘Wreck! wreck!’ he saw Billy Ede’s wife, Ann, standing there in her clogs, with a shawl over her head, and her clothes wringing wet.

“‘Save the chap!’ says Billy Ede’s wife, Ann. ‘What d’ ‘ee mean by crying stale fish at that rate?’

“‘But ’tis a wreck, I tell ‘ee. I’ve a-zeed ‘n!’

“‘Why, so ’tis,’ says she, ‘and I’ve a-zeed ‘n too; and so has everyone with an eye in his head.’

“And with that she pointed straight over my father’s shoulder, and he turned; and there, close under Dolor Point, at the end of Coverack town, he saw another wreck washing, and the point black with people, like emmets, running to and fro in the morning light. While he stood staring at her, he heard a trumpet sounded on board, the notes coming in little jerks, like a bird rising against the wind; but faintly, of course, because of the distance and the gale blowing–though this had dropped a little.

“‘She’s a transport,’ said Billy Ede’s wife, Ann, ‘and full of horse soldiers, fine long men. When she struck they must ha’ pitched the hosses over first to lighten the ship, for a score of dead hosses had washed in afore I left, half an hour back. An’ three or four soldiers, too–fine long corpses in white breeches and jackets of blue and gold. I held the lantern to one. Such a straight young man!’

“My father asked her about the trumpeting.

“‘That’s the queerest bit of all. She was burnin’ a light when me an’ my man joined the crowd down there. All her masts had gone; whether they carried away, or were cut away to ease her, I don’t rightly know. Anyway, there she lay ‘pon the rocks with her decks bare. Her keelson was broke under her and her bottom sagged and stove, and she had just settled down like a sitting hen–just the leastest list to starboard; but a man could stand there easy. They had rigged up ropes across her, from bulwark to bulwark, an’ beside these the men were mustered, holding on like grim death whenever the sea made a clean breach over them, an’ standing up like heroes as soon as it passed. The captain an’ the officers were clinging to the rail of the quarter-deck, all in their golden uniforms, waiting for the end as if ’twas King George they expected. There was no way to help, for she lay right beyond cast of line, though our folk tried it fifty times. And beside them clung a trumpeter, a whacking big man, an’ between the heavy seas he would lift his trumpet with one hand, and blow a call; and every time he blew, the men gave a cheer. There’ (she says)’–hark ‘ee now–there he goes agen! But you won’t hear no cheering any more, for few are left to cheer, and their voices weak. Bitter cold the wind is, and I reckon it numbs their grip o’ the ropes, for they were dropping off fast with every sea when my man sent me home to get his breakfast. Another wreck, you say? Well, there’s no hope for the tender dears, if ’tis the Manacles. You’d better run down and help yonder; though ’tis little help that any man can give. Not one came in alive while I was there. The tide’s flowing, an’ she won’t hold together another hour, they say.’