CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
THE WRECK OF THE "KESTREL."
The crew of the _Kestrel_ consisted of less than fifty men, most of themIrishmen. While the work of setting sails and making all snug lasted Ihad little chance of looking about me, but the impression I formed wasthat the schooner was not at all worthy of the praise her tipsy captainhad bestowed upon her. She was an old craft, with a labouring way ofsailing that compared very unfavourably with the _Cigale_ or the_Arrow_. Her guns, about a dozen in all, were of an antiquated type,and badly mounted, and her timbers were old and faulty. As long as wehad a sharp east wind astern we had not much to concern us, but I had mymisgivings how she would behave in dirty weather with a lee-shore on herquarter.
That, however, concerned me less just then than my impatience to get aglimpse of the face of the lieutenant. I volunteered for an extra watchfor this purpose, and longed for some excuse to take me aft.
Sure enough it came. The same voice rang out again through thedarkness:--
"Hand there! come and set the stern light."
"Ay, ay, sir," cried I, hurrying to the place.
For the first hour or so after slipping our moorings off Havre the_Kestrel_ had remained in perfect darkness. But now that we were beyondsight of the lights ashore there was no occasion for so dangerous aprecaution. I unlashed the lantern and took it down to the galley for alight, and then returned with it to the helm.
As I did so I could not help turning it full on the face of the man atthe tiller.
Sure enough it was Tim, grown into a man, with down on his chin, and theweather wrinkles at the corner of his eyes. Every inch a sailor and agentleman he looked as he stood there in his blue flannel suit andpeaked cap; the same easy-going, gusty, reckless Tim I had fought withmany a time on Fanad cliffs, loving him more for every blow I gave him.When I thought I had lost him, it seemed as if I had lost a part ofmyself. Now I had found him, I had found myself.
"Look alive, my lad," said he.
Without a word I fixed the light in its place. I had never, I think,felt so shy and at a loss in my life.
At last I could stand it no longer.
"Tim, old man, is that really you?"
He staggered at the sound of my voice, just as I had staggered at thesound of his, and let go the helm.
"Saint Patrick! it's Barry."
And I felt his hand on my shoulder, and heard him give a little laugh ofwonder.
"Fetch that light! Let me have a look at you!"
I obeyed, and it would be hard to say which side of the lantern, as itswung between us, witnessed the greatest wonder.
"Look to the helm," said I. "She's falling off a point or two."
"Ha, ha!" said the joyous Tim, "to think of me manning the helm with youon the ship. Take you it, you dog you, and spin us your yarn."
"Not till you tell me how you came to life again. I heard the _Cigale_was lost with all hands."
"Except one," said Tim. "Father might have escaped too, but he was soashamed to have run the ship on the rock that nothing would drag himfrom her. I held on to a spar for a whole day, and drifted to within aswim of Tory Island, where for a whole month I waited to get across. Iheard you had been drowned in the Swilly, and Knockowen was empty, so Imade my way to Sligo, and Keogh, an old mate of father's, gave me aberth on this crock of a boat. As I could talk French and knewsomething of the business, he called me lieutenant--me that hates thesea like the very mischief, and French lace worse than that! I tellyou, Barry, even if I hadn't found you, this would have been my lastvoyage. There's other work for you and me."
"What work is that?"
"The work of Ireland! There's a new age dawning there, and you and Iwill be in it. The chains are dropping right and left, and the poorprisoner is struggling from his knees to his feet. We shall live in afree country of our own before long, Barry, my boy--free because she haslearned to help herself, and will remain the plaything or the slave ofothers no longer. France is free; she has learned to help herself. Wein Ireland have our Bastille to storm and our feudalism to destroy."
He spoke with a glow on his cheeks and a fire in his eyes that quitetook me aback, and made it hard to recognise the Tim of old days.
"I could tell you something about this glorious freedom in France," saidI, with a jerk of my head in the direction of that accursed land.
"You shall; and mark me, Ireland will not be a pace behind her."
"God forbid!" said I.
"But you haven't told me your story yet," said he, carrying the lampback to its place, as if he were the seaman and I at the helm theofficer.
Then I told him all, not omitting my love for Miss Kit, or my disgustfor the Republic One and Indivisible.
He heard me with evident disquiet.
"I am sorry about the girl," said he bluntly. "She may be all you say,but Ireland wants you heart and soul just now. It is no time fordancing attendance on ladies."
"For all I know she lies buried under the guillotine," said I.
"Oh no, she does not," said Tim. "She and her mother are back atKnockowen, so I was told a month ago, before we sailed on this voyage."
I seized his hand so eagerly at this news as almost to startle him.
"Watch her helm, she's falling away," said he, almost sharply. "Ay,she's back, but no nearer your reach for that. I hear Gorman has becomea rich man since. The English estates that belonged to the master ofKilgorman have yielded a great profit, and besides that he has got holdof the Lestrange property too. The young lady is an heiress, and thisCaptain Lestrange you spoke of, who saved them out of Paris, is notlikely to lose the chance of getting a wife and his family estates backinto the bargain. Don't be a fool, Barry. You and I are only sailorlads. It does not become us to be hankering after heiresses. But thefreedom of Ireland we may and must strive for; and, Barry, brother,"(and what a whack he caught me on my back), "we'll get it!"
I turned in that night with my head in a whirl. It seemed as if everyjoy I had was destined to crumble in my hand. No sooner had I found mylittle lady in Paris than a cruel hand swept us asunder. No sooner hadI found my brother than I found him estranged from me in a hopelesscause. No sooner had I heard of the safety of her I loved than I heardshe was lifted further out of my reach than ever. I could have wished Ihad never met Tim again. I should at least have slept better had I lainin my bunk with no thought but that of the French coast dropping leagueby league astern. Now, even Ireland seemed to have its terrors ahead.
But sleep came to my rescue, and with sleep came courage and hope. Whyshould I be afraid? What had I to hang my head at? Was I, who had comethrough a reign of terror, going to mope at troubles in advance?Sufficient unto the day should be the evil thereof!
So I met Tim with a smile in the morning, and asked him to report me toCaptain Keogh.
That worthy officer had quite slept off the debauch of last night, andwas apparently looking forward to the next, for a bottle of rum stood onthe cabin table. He had not the slightest recollection of me, but whenhe heard I was his lieutenant's brother, he poured out three glasses andproposed luck all round.
"Sit down, Gallagher," said he to Tim. "I can't ask your brother tosit, for the sake of the discipline of the ship; but I'm pleased to seehim, and if he's a handy lad like you I'll make a seaman of him."
"Barry's worth any dozen of the likes of me," said Tim, "when it comesto sailing. If any one can get an extra tack out of the old _Kestrel_,he can."
"Don't talk disrespectfully of your ship, lieutenant," said CaptainKeogh. "To be sure, the carpenter has been pestering me this morningabout the timbers; but I told him he'd probably only make things worseby patching. You can't put new wine into old bottles, you know,"--herehe poured himself out a fresh glass--"and we shall hold well enoughtogether till we reach Bantry."
"Sligo," said Tim.
"Well, Sligo. We must keep clear of French privateers and give thecoast a wide berth. That's the very thing. This wind mus
t have beenturned on to suit us. I positively thought the _Kestrel_ was sailingfast to-day."
"She's well enough as she is, but if we get into dirty weather, we oughtto run in for the nearest port we can reach."
"We are much more likely to run into dead calms, and have to sitwhistling for the wind--dry work at best, but in this weather terrible."And he gulped down his rum, and nodded a dismissal.
The captain's forecast, as it turned out, was pretty near the mark. Offthe Cornish coast we fell into a succession of calms, which kept uspractically motionless for half a week. Even the light breezes whichwould have sufficed to send the _Arrow_ spinning through the water,failed utterly to put way upon our cranky tub; and every day thecarpenter was growing more persistent in his complaints. At lastCaptain Keogh ordered him to do what he pleased so long as he held hispeace, whereupon the sound of hammering and tinkering might be heard fora day across the still water.
During these lazy days, Tim and I talked a great deal. He was full ofvisions and hopes of an emancipated Ireland, and all the glories whichshould belong to her.
"Think of it, Barry. Every man's land will be his own. We shall haveour own army and navy. There will be no England to tax us and bleed usto death. We shall have open arms for the friends of liberty all theworld over. Irishmen will stay at home instead of carrying theirmanhood to foreign climes. Nay, we shall stand with our heel on theneck of England, and she who for centuries has ground the spirit out ofus will sue to us for quarter."
"How will you manage all this?" said I.
"The people are armed, only waiting the signal to rise and throw off theyoke. England is not ready, she is beset on all sides, her fleet isdiscontented, her armies are scattered over Europe, her garrison inIreland is half asleep. Our leaders are only waiting their time, andmeanwhile Irishmen are flocking to the banner daily. And more thanthat, Barry," added he, with a thump on the bulwark, "at the first blowfrom us, France will be ready to strike for our liberty too. I knowthat for certain, my boy."
"France!" said I. "If there are innocents to be slaughtered, and bloodto flow, and fiends to be let loose, you may depend on her."
"She at least is more our friend than men like Gorman, who one day, whenthey are poor, with nothing to lose, are for the people, and the next,when they are rich, are for the crown and the magistrates and theProtestant ascendency. It will be a sorry look-out for such as thesewhen we come into our own.--There comes a breeze surely!"
"South-easterly," said I; "that will suit us."
It was a moderate breeze only, but it brought us on our way opportunely,until one day, as we looked out, there was land on our weather-beam.
Then fell another calm, longer and more dead than the last. The sea waslike glass, the horizon hazy, and the heat oppressive. The carpenter,as now and again he looked up at the lifeless sails, muttered betweenhis teeth.
"I hear," said Tim, "our timbers above the water-line have sprung hereand there. The old tub is quite rotten, and every day we lie idle likethis she grows worse."
"This time to-morrow, by all signs, we shall not be lying idle," said I,glancing up at the metallic sky, and following the line of a school ofporpoises as they wheeled across our stern.
"So much the better. We must run before the wind wherever it comesfrom. We could not live through a cross-sea for an hour."
The storm came sooner than I expected. The metallic sky grew overcast,and a warning shudder fell over the still surface of the water. Then asudden squall took us amidships, and sent us careening over on our beam,before we even knew that the calm was at an end.
We had no more than time to shorten our courses and turn her head, whenthe tempest struck us from the south-west, lashing up the sea at ourstern, and making our cranky masts stoop forward and creak like thingsin mortal pain.
The carpenter's face grew longer than ever.
"For mercy's sake, captain," said he, "keep her in the wind, or she'llcrack to pieces. You can't afford to take a point. We're only soundunder calm water-line; above it, she's as thirsty as a sieve."
"More shame to you," growled Captain Keogh. "We're all thirsty here."
"You'll have water enough presently," muttered the carpenter to himselfas he went below.
"Gallagher, you and your brother take the helm. Keep her out a taste,whatever yonder fool says. My! she's spinning along for once in a way.At this rate we shall make Achill by night."
"Better try for Galway, sir," said I.
"Hold your tongue, you French fool," cried the captain, who was greatlyexcited. "Save your advice till it's asked, or go aloft.--I tell you,"said he, turning to Tim, "it's Sligo or nowhere. There's not a cruiserthere to interfere with us, or an exciseman that we can't square. Ireckon there's profit enough in this lace to pay an admiral's prize-money. Galway! You might as well try to land at London Bridge."
Here the carpenter once more rushed on deck. He looked up at thecanvas, then at the compass, then at the helm.
"I declare, after what I told you, you're two points out of the wind,sir. The ship won't stand it, I tell you. She's leaking already. Youneed all that canvas down, and only your jibs and foresails; and eventhen you must let her run."
Captain Keogh turned upon him with a torrent of abuse.
"Saints help us! Am I the captain of this ship, or are you, you long-jawed, squint-eyed, whining son of a wood-chopper you? First it's aFrench stowaway wants to tell me my business, then it's you. Whydoesn't the cabin-boy come up and take charge of the ship? Way theretake in the courses, and let the helm go. Give the fool what he wants,and give me a dram for luck."
All that day we flew through the water in front of as fierce a south-wester as I was ever out in. The carpenter reported that the pumps wereholding their own and no more, but that a dozen cross-seas would splitus open like rotten medlar. When night fell, the weather promised togrow worse, and the rain and hail at our backs made it almost impossibleto keep up our heads.
"It's all very well," said Tim, who had been down to the cabin toinspect the chart, "but this can't go on. We've had water-room all day,but I reckon we are closing in on the land every yard now, and if wedon't put out her head we shall find ourselves on the Connemara coast."
"Better run for Galway, and say nothing," said I.
"Too late now. I wish we had."
"Out she goes then," said I; "it's a question between going down wherewe are or breaking to pieces against Slyne Head."
"That's just it," said Tim. "The captain's dead drunk below. Call allhands aft, Barry; let them choose."
The men crowded aft, and Tim spoke to them.
"We're in for an ugly night, my lads, and we're on a rotten boat. Thecarpenter says, unless we run before the wind, we shall go to pieces inhalf-an-hour. I say, if we do run, we shall be on Slyne Head in twohours. Which shall it be? I don't mind much myself."
"Put it to the vote," said one.
So a vote was taken, and of forty men who voted, twenty-five were fordeath in two hours, and fifteen for death in an hour.
"Very good," said Tim. "Get to your posts, and remember you are underorders till we strike. Then shift for yourselves; and the Lord havemercy on us all!"
"Amen!" said the sailors, and returned to their duties.
It was a terrible night, and, to make matters worse, as black as pitch.We should not even have the help of daylight for meeting our doom.
"Barry," said Tim, "I don't think we shall both perish. If it's I,promise me you will fight for Ireland till she is free."
"If you die, Tim, I don't care what I do. I promise. And if I die,promise me--"
"Not to go near that girl?"
"No," said I, with a groan.
"What, then?"
"Search below the great hearth at Kilgorman, and do whatever the messageyou will find there bids you. It is not my message, but our mother's."
"I promise that. But hold on now," said he, catching me by the arm,"the old ship's beforehand with
us. She's going to pieces before wereach shore."
Sure enough she was. The rough water into which we were plungingloosened her already warped timbers, and she gradually ceased to rise onthe waves, but settled down doggedly and sullenly as the water poured inon this side and that and filled her hold. Captain Keogh, suddenlyroused to his senses, staggered on deck, and took the helm, not for anygood he could do, but from the sailor's instinct to be at his post atthe end.
All hands came on deck, and the order was given to lower the boats. Forthe credit of these Irishmen be it said that no man stepped in till hewas ordered by name. The first boat capsized before she even reachedthe water, and swung with a crash that shivered her against the side ofthe ship. The other was more fortunate, and got clear just before wefoundered.
Tim, who might have joined it, preferred to stand by me. The other menprovided themselves with spars or corks, and prepared for the end.
"Keep near me," said Tim with a tremble in his voice, not of fear but ofaffection.
That was all I heard; for at that moment the _Kestrel_ gave a diveforward, which cleared her decks, and sent her, captain, lace, and all,to the bottom.
"Jump!" cried a voice at my side.
I felt an arm round me as the water closed over us; and when, strugglinghard against the suck of the foundering ship, I rose to the surface, Timwas beside me with one arm still round me, the other clinging to afloating spar.
Kilgorman: A Story of Ireland in 1798 Page 22
