The Coming Wave Part 2

Half buried in the whelming tide, the whale-boat dashed through the waves towards the high cliffs of the rocky island. She had scarcely left the brig before it broke in two in the middle; the foremast toppled over into the water, and the after portion disappeared in the waves, as they were lighted up by the repeated flashes from the dark clouds.

"We shall be dashed in pieces on the rocks!" exclaimed the mate, as he turned his gaze from the remaining portion of the Waldo to the lofty cliffs on the island.

"No; there is a beach under the rocks," replied Wallbridge. "I know the place very well. Let her go ahead, and we must take our chances in the surf."

"If there is a beach we shall do very well," replied the mate, pulling vigorously at his oar to keep the boat before the wind; for he knew that, if she fell off into the trough of the sea, she would be instantly swamped.

But the distance was short between the ledge and the sh.o.r.e, and in a moment more the boat struck heavily upon the gravelly beach, which was, at this time of tide, not more than ten feet wide, and the waves already rolled over it against the perpendicular rocks. With one consent, the four men leaped from the boat into the surf. The mate carried the painter on sh.o.r.e with him, and endeavored to swing around the boat, which had come stern foremost to the beach. Burns imprudently moved out into the surf to a.s.sist him, when the undertow from a heavy wave swept him far out into the angry sea. In the mean time, Wallbridge and Harvey Barth retreated towards the cliff. The tide was still rising, and the beach afforded but partial shelter from the fury of the billows.

"This is no place for us," said Wallbridge, gloomily.

"I don't think it is," drawled Harvey. "We can't stand it here a great while."

"But I will make sure of one thing," added the late pa.s.senger of the Waldo. "I have twelve hundred dollars in gold in my hand, and it may be the means of drowning me."

"Gold isn't of much use to us just now," sighed Harvey, indifferently, as he glanced around him to ascertain if there were any means of escape to the high rocks above; but no man could climb the steep cliff beside him.

"I worked two years in Cuba for this money, and I don't like to lose it," said Wallbridge. "But I don't mean to be drowned on account of it."

As he spoke he kneeled down on the beach, and scooped out of the sand and gravel a hole about a foot deep, into which he dropped the bag of gold.

"Under that overhanging rock," said he, fixing in his mind the locality of his "hidden treasure;" "I shall be able to find it again when I want it."

"I hope you will," answered Harvey Barth, looking up at the mark indicated by his companion.

It was little he cared for gold then, and leaving the owner of the treasure to consider more particularly the place where he had buried it, he walked along under the cliff in search of some shelter from the billows, which every moment drenched him in their spray. He moved on some distance, till an angle in the cliff carried it out into the deep water. He had come to the end of the beach, and he halted there in despair. He felt that there was no alternative but to lie down and die in the angry waves, for it was better to be drowned than to be dashed to pieces on the jagged rocks. A bright flash of lightning, followed by a fearful crash of thunder, as though the bolt had struck upon the land near him, illuminated the scene for an instant. That flash, which might have carried death and destruction in its path on the land, kindled a new hope in the bosom of Harvey Barth, for it revealed to him an opening in the angle of the rock. The cliff seemed to have been rent asunder, and a torrent of fresh water was pouring down through it from the high land above.

Harvey entered the opening, walking with difficulty over the large, loose stones, rounded by the flow of the stream. The ascent was steep, and the torrent of water that poured down through the ravine increased the trials of its pa.s.sage. But the wrecked wanderer felt that he was safe from the fury of the savage waves. When he came to a flat rock, only a few feet above the beach, upon which he could step out of the little torrent, he paused to rest and recover his breath. Then he thought of his companions in misery, exposed to the peril of the sweeping billows and the more terrible rocks. He was not a selfish man, and the thought caused him to retrace his steps to the entrance of the ravine. Here he halted, and shouted with all his might to his s.h.i.+pmates; but his voice was weak at the best, and no response came to his cries.

The das.h.i.+ng of the sea and the roaring of the tempest drowned the sound.

After finding a place of safety, he could not leave his companions to perish. The tide was still rising, increased and hastened by the furious hurricane which drove the waters in this direction. The beach was more dangerous than when he had crossed it before, but the steward, in spite of his weakness, reached the spot where the pa.s.senger had buried his gold. Neither the mate nor Wallbridge was there; and the whale-boat had also disappeared. With the greatest difficulty, Harvey succeeded in regaining the opening in the rock. Several times he was knocked down by the billows, and once he was thrown with considerable force against the cliff. Bruised and exhausted, he seated himself on the flat rock again, to recover his breath and the little strength he had left.

Wallbridge and the mate were appalled at the fate of Burns, though they did not know that a broken spar from the wreck had struck him on the head, and deprived him of the use of his powers. The whale-boat was hauled around, head to the beach, but the waves swept it far up towards the rocks, which threatened its destruction in a few moments more. Then they missed Harvey, and both of them shouted his name with all the vigor of their strong lungs; but the steward did not hear them.

"The sea has swept him away," said the mate, sadly.

"Or dashed him against the rocks," added Wallbridge. "It will be the same with us in a short time. I didn't think the tide was up so far, or I should have known better than to land here."

"I would rather take my chance on the wreck," continued Mr. Carboy, who still held the painter of the boat. "I think it is moderating a little."

"Not much; but do you think we can get off in the whale-boat?" asked Wallbridge.

"We may but it is death to stay here ten minutes longer."

"That's true; for common tides rise to the foot of the rocks. We can't stand up much longer."

"Now's our time!" exclaimed the mate. "The wind lulls a little. It can't be any worse on the wreck than it is here."

The hurricane had certainly subsided a little, and with a vigorous effort the two stout men shoved the whale-boat down the steep declivity into the deep water. Keeping her head to the sea, with the oars in their hands they leaped into the boat as a receding billow carried her far out from the beach.

"Now, give way!" cried the mate; and with l.u.s.ty strokes they pulled against the advancing sea.

The boat was light, and the two rowers were powerful men, thoroughly experienced in the handling of boats under the most trying circ.u.mstances. They succeeded in getting clear of the beach, however, only by the favoring lull of the tempest. They pulled dead to windward, for Mr. Carboy dared not risk the boat in the trough of the sea, even for a moment. This direction brought them, after a desperate pull, to the wreck of the Waldo, only the forward part of which remained. This portion appeared to the mate to be wedged in between a couple of rocks, now hidden by the waves, for it did not rise and fall with the billows.

He stated his belief to Wallbridge, and they agreed that the wreck would be the safest place for them. The pa.s.senger spoke of a good harbor but a short distance to the northward, but Mr. Carboy declared that the whale-boat would be swamped in the attempt to reach it.

Under the lee of the wreck, the sea was comparatively mild, and the mate fastened the painter of the boat to the bobstay of the brig. Without much difficulty, the two men climbed to the forecastle of the vessel, which was still above the water. Doubtless Mr. Carboy was right in regard to the position of the wreck on the rocks, but the sea dashed furiously against the broken end of the hulk. The hurricane renewed its violence, and as the tide rose, the waves swept over the two men. But the rising sea did worse than this for them. It loosened the cargo, consisting in part of hogsheads of mola.s.ses; and they rolled down into the deep water. Relieved of this weight, the tide lifted the wreck from between the rocks; the hulk rolled over and disappeared beneath the white-crowned waves, dragging the whale-boat down with it. The movement was so sudden that the mate and the pa.s.senger had no time to save themselves, if there had been any means of doing so, and they went down with the wreck. After a hard struggle for life, they perished.

Harvey Barth alone was spared, and he rested on the flat rock in the ravine till his wasted breath and meagre strength were regained. Then he continued his weary ascent till he reached the summit of the cliffs, where he saw the boat made fast to the wreck, and the mate and pa.s.senger clinging to the forestay. In the next glare of the lightning, with a thrill of horror, he saw the hulk topple over and disappear in the mad waves.

Harvey Barth, the sick man, was the only one of the dozen persons on board of the Waldo who was left alive in half an hour after the hurricane burst upon her; and she was not the only vessel that foundered or was dashed upon the rocks in that terrific storm, nor the only one from whose crew only a single life was spared. The tempest and the lightning had done their work; and when it was done, the dark clouds rolled away, the lightning glared no more, the winds subsided, and the sea was calm again. Later in the night, the wind came cold and fresh from the north-west, and swept away from the narrow beach the wounded body of Burns, and nearly every vestige of the wreck. The rising sun of the next morning revealed hardly a trace of the terrible disaster.

CHAPTER III.

"HARVEY BARTH, HIS DIARY."

Harvey Barth stood on the high cliff and wept; not in a poetical sense, but cried like a little child, and the hot tears burned on his cold, thin pale cheeks. Captain 'Siah had always used him well; the rough mate had been kind to him; and the seamen, most of whom, like himself, were farmers' sons, had been friendly during the three months they were together. Even the pa.s.senger often seated himself in the galley to talk with him, as he smoked his pipe. Now they were all gone. So far as Harvey knew, every one of them, from the captain to the humblest seaman, had perished, either by the bolt from the clouds or in the mad waters.

It was barely possible that the mate or pa.s.senger had escaped from the wreck on which they had taken refuge, as they had the whale-boat with them.

Harvey Barth, who had often told his s.h.i.+pmates that he had not much longer to live, was the only one saved from the whole s.h.i.+p's company. It seemed to him very strange that he should be spared while so many stronger men had been suddenly swept away. He dared not believe that any one else had been saved, and he could not but regard himself as a monument of the mercy, as well as of the mysterious ways of Providence.

He thanked G.o.d from the depths of his heart that he was saved, and he was almost willing to believe that he might yet escape the fate to which his malady had doomed him.

The hurricane subsided almost as suddenly as it had commenced; the sea abated its violence, and the booming thunder was heard only in the distance. The black clouds rolled away from the westward, and the stars sparkled in the blue sky. The steward was wet to the skin, and he s.h.i.+vered with cold. Where he was he had not the least idea. On the distant sh.o.r.e he could see the light-houses, but what points of land they marked he did not know. He was on the solid land, and that was the sum total of his information. He was well nigh worn out by the exertions and the excitement of the evening, but, turning his back to the treacherous ocean which had swallowed up all his friends, he walked as rapidly as his strength would admit, in order to warm himself by the exercise. From the cliffs the land sloped upward, but he soon reached the top of the hill, on which he paused to take an observation. From the point where he stood there was a much sharper descent before him than on the side by which he had come up. At the foot of the hill he saw two lights, then a sheet of water, and beyond a mult.i.tude of lights indicating a considerable village.

The nearest light appeared not to be over half a mile distant, and the pale moon came out from behind the piles of black clouds to guide his steps. The cold north-west wind had begun to blow, and it chilled the wanderer to his very bones. He quickened his steps down the declivity, and soon reached a rude, one-story dwelling, at the door of which he knocked. He saw the light in the house, but no one answered his summons, and he repeated it more vigorously than before. Then a window was cautiously thrown open a few inches.

"Who's there?" asked a woman.

"A stranger," replied Harvey, s.h.i.+vering with cold, so that he could hardly utter the words.

"My husband's over to the village, and I can't let no strangers in at this time of night," added the woman.

"I've been cast away on the coast, and I'm really suffering," drawled the steward, in broken sentences.

"Cast away!" exclaimed the wife of the man who was over at the village, as she dropped the sash.

The terrible storm which had spent its fury upon sea and land was enough to convince her that men might have been s.h.i.+pwrecked; and this was not the first time that those treacherous ledges off High Rock, as the cliff was called, had shattered a good vessel. The woman hastened to the door, and threw it wide open. The pale, s.h.i.+vering form of Harvey Barth, the overcoat he wore still dripping with water, was enough to satisfy her that the visitor had no evil intentions.

"Come in," said she; and when the steward saw the comfortable room in the house, he required no second invitation. "Why, you are s.h.i.+vering with cold!"

"Yes marm; I'm not very well, and getting wet don't agree with me,"

replied Harvey, his teeth still chattering.

The room to which he was shown was the parlor, sitting-room, and kitchen of the cottage. On the hearth was a large cooking-stove, in which the woman immediately lighted a fire. She piled on the dry wood till the stove was full, and in a few moments the room was as hot as the oven of the stove.

"It's no use," said the housekeeper, who had seated herself to rock the cradle; "you are wet through to your skin; and you can't get warm till you put on dry clothes."