The Maid of the Storm ... Frontispiece by Craig Coats

Front matter

f THE MAID OF THE STORM THE WAVES ALMOST ENGULFED HIM WHEN HE REACHED THE BOTTOM OF THE CLIFF." [p. IJ THE MAID OF THE STORM BY NELLIE CORNWALL, Author of " Little Bunch's Charge," " Tamsin Rostwame and Her Burdens," " Hallvard Halvorsen ; or, The Avalanche," etc., etc. FRONTISPIECE BY CRAIG COATS. LONDON : S W. PARTRIDGE & CO. 8 & 9, Paternoster Row, E.C. XEO DEAR NAN CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE. A DISTRESSING SIGHT 7 II ON BOARD THE WRECK 14 III. AUNT JUDY AND UNCLE SILAS 21 IV. A BOX AND WHAT IT CONTAINED .... 27 V. SHADOWS 31 VI. A TALK ON THE HEDGE 36 VII. THE NEBUCHADNEZZAR BAND 48 VIII. GENTLEMAN'S PARLOUR 55 IX. THE BREAD AND TREACLE FEAST .... 63 X. WARWICK AND JACK ARE MISSING .... 74 XI. CAPTAIN PASCOE MAKES A KIND OFFER . . . 8l XII. BESSIE TREBISKIN ASKS A FAVOUR . . . . gl XIII. JACK TREBISKIN'S GHOST 97 XIV.

A STRANGE WELCOME 105 XV. JACK'S STORY II3 xvi. jack's story (continued) 121 XVII HOW THE PORTISSYKERS WELCOMED JACK AND WARWICK 131 XVIII. FATHER AND CHILD 137 XIX. CONCLUSION I52

Chapter I

A DISTRESSING SIGHT. ONE wild evening in March, a crowd of people was gathered on Varley Point, a dark headland thrust =fep out into the sea, watching the piteous sight of a three-masted vessel at the cruel mercy of wind and wave. They had been watching her from the time she was first seen drifting towards the shore. It was getting dark now, and the long line of coast, with its jutting headlands stretching up beyond " the thundering shores of Bude and Bos " and down to great Pentire and Padstow Points, was growing more indistinct every minute, while the ship itself was little more than a blotch on the white seething water. More than one of the bold fishermen — of which the crowd largely consisted — longed for the moonrise, which would not be for another quarter of an hour. Not that they would be able to do anything to save the ship or her crew when they had light, for it was before the days of life-boats and life-saving apparatuses, and the vessel was in such a position as not to be got at from the land in such weather.

But they had sympathetic natures, and they could not let the poor helpless souls go unwatched to their doom. As the darkness grew, the storm raged more fiercely ; indeed, the wind was now so strong that the people had difficulty in keeping their footing, and it was only in the intervals of the gale that they could hear each other speak. One of the fishermen suggested that a watchfire should be lighted on the point in the hollow of a cliff, sheltered from the wind ; and as several men and lads hastened away in search of firewood, the vessel was suddenly illuminated and stood out against the background of the night, showing distinctly the crew on her decks. There were fourteen of them, and they were standing round a flaming tar barrel. It was an unexpected sight, and startling as un expected.

At first the people only gaped, and then on the point two sprang out of the shadow of a cliff and strode to the verge of the headland. One of them was a big dark fisherman, Tom Trebiskin by name; and the other, a short burly little man, not more than four feet six inches in height, but with such breadth of back and chest that made up for his shortness of stature. He was Captain Billing Pascoe, a skipper of the old school, and was quite a character in the large and important fishing village of Portissyk, folded in the hills about a mile and a half away from Varley Point. " Hast got thy babby, Cap'n ? " asked the fisherman when the storm would let his voice be heard. " Ay, Tom, me hearty, I've got 'un safe under here," he bellowed in answer, touching the tawny oilskin in which his square squat figure was enveloped.

" Then have the kindness to fish him out. I want to know what is strung up to the mizzen-mast. It looks A Distressing Sight. 9 like clothes hung up to dry. There ! the fire is blazing out again like torches. I believe 'tis a woman hanging there ! " " A woman ? " roared the salt, taking out a spy-glass and raising it to his eye. " You be right, Tom Tre biskin, 'tis a female woman, sure as I'm me mother's own son ; and just above her head a little lad is clinging. Can't 'ee see the dear little head of him, Tom — a yellowish spot agin the mast ? " " No," returned the fisherman gruffly, so gruffly that the old salt knew that he was greatly moved. " Then take my babby, Tom, and have a peep through 'un, only be careful you don't drop him, for he is the only cheeld to my name ! " As Tom Trebiskin took the spy-glass, which he did with deliberate care, a voice, peculiarly full and mellow, asked — " Is it true, Captain Pascoe, that there is a woman on board the barque ?

" and the old skipper, twisting his little body round, saw a clergyman standing near. He was Mr. Tredarrup, the Rector of the parish of St. Endellion, of which Portissyk was a part. " Is it you, Passon ? " cried the old man, lifting his weather-worn face, shadowed by a sou'-wester, in pleased surprise. " Yes, sir, 'tis a female woman," as the Rector nodded. " 'Tis a wisht sight, as your own two eyes will tell 'ee. There's a dear little boy up there, too ; and what with the both of 'em lashed to the mast 'tis enough to make the rocks weep." " It is indeed," responded the clergyman, doubling his hand and looking through it. " That ent much good, sir," cried the old skipper, noticing the action. " Have a look through this beauty," and Tom Trebiskin handed him the glass. " None better made, sir, though I says it as shouldn't. It was a present to me for saving three lives from the ill-fated ship that bore the name of the ' Twin Gods,' as perhaps you know, sir — Castor an' Pollyax."

The Rector smiled as he took the nautical instrument. " Put 'un to your weather eye," cried the skipper, as Mr. Tredarrup raised it. " That's it, me hearty ; now isn't it a wisht sight ? " " Beyond words," said the clergyman sadly. " Can we do nothing to help them ? " " Nothing whatever, sir," bellowed the old salt ; " that's the hard part of it. Ah ! here comes Squire Roscarrock," seeing a thin aristocratic-looking man with a pale intellectual face pushing his way to where he and Mr. Tredarrup were standing. " I have been looking for you, Billing," said Mr. Roscarrock, " and you, too, Tom Trebiskin," as the latter looked round. " Several of the fishermen are suggesting the practicability of launching a boat and pulling down to the vessel. What say you, friends ? " glancing from one to the other.

" Can't be done, sir, as any born fool knows or should know," cried Captain Pascoe in his rough, uncouth way. " The wind is dead on the land, and the sea like mountains. Tom Trebiskin and I ent choked full of sense like Uncle Malachi's cheeld, if the rest of you be," glancing out from under his sou'-wester, as if Mr. Roscarrock were responsible for the suggestion. " If we was to launch a boat and try to get outside Lobber, the wind the way it is, why, sirs, it wouldn't be five minutes afore we should be tossed up on the white horns of the sea bulls and sent on our way to David Jones' Locker. What do you say, Tom Trebiskin ? " appealing to the fisherman. " Every man here knows that you axe a brave man, and will venture your big hulk where nobody else dares." " The skipper is right," answered the fisherman huskily.

" No boat could stand such seas as are now A Distressing Sight. 11 on. I have been thinking a lot about it since I have been standing here. Still, if the chaps think well to venture I will volunteer to go." "So will I," cried the old salt, waving his spyglass above his head. " I gladly offer myself too for one of the crew," said Mr. Tredarrup. " I can manage an oar," as Captain Pascoe stared up at him. " I was first stroke at Oxford, as Mr. Roscarrock will tell you." " Let me have the honour of shaking your paw, mate," he roared, gripping the clergyman's hand. " I like your brave heart, sir, but let me tell 'ee that the river at Oxford ent Cornish seas. No, no, my hearty, if we go, we shan't let you ; for you have to abide at home to comfort the widows and little fatherless children ! How did you hear about the disabled vessel, gentle men ?

" he asked, as the Rector and Mr. Roscarrock smiled at the old skipper's evil forebodings. " We were in Aunt Judy's shop buying my little Warwick some lollipops, when we heard the sad news," answered Mr. Roscarrock. " Your little son Jackie," turning to Tom Trebiskin, "came in to tell us about the vessel, and where his daddy had gone. So we left Warwick under Aunt Judy's care and hastened here. Alas ! we are useless now we have come." " We can help them by our prayers," said the Rector. " Do not let us forget," as the fishermen gazed out sadly on the raging breakers, " that ' the Lord on high is mightier than the noise of many waters, yea, than the mighty waves of the sea.' He is also ' a refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.' " "Thank 'ee, passon, for reminding us of the Power and the Glory," said Captain Pascoe loudly and yet reverently, removing his sou'-wester.

During the above conversation, which was more than once hindered by the noise of breakers thundering along the shore, the wind had suddenly lulled into a silence that was ominous. In the west behind the barque the heaven was a Tartarean blackness, but away in the east the sky was growing warm from the light of the moon, which was now beginning to rise, and at the moment the old skipper was speaking to the Rector, it was burning like a sacrificial fire on the edge of the hill's crest. As he turned gladly to look at the moon, a voice from the sea was heard singing in rich full tones like a nightingale in the green depths of a wood. At first the superstitious fisherfolk declared it was the drowned hailing their comrades, and their faces " Grew pale as watchfires in the glare of day." But they were mistaken, it was the woman lashed to the mast of the vessel who was singing with such thrilling power, and it reminded Mr. Roscarrock, as he listened, of the fabled bird singing its death song down the River of Death, and brought to his mind the immortal lines of Avon's bard — " I will play the swan and die in music' A minute or two elapsed before the people on the point realised who it was that was singing, but when they did they listened breathlessly.

She was singing the dear old hymn — " Jesu, Lover of my soul, Let me to Thy bosom fly," and to the accompaniment of wild breakers, which did not cease their roaring as she sang. The thrilling voice, heard above the crashing of the waves, and the pathos of the hymn, were affecting in the extreme. Small wonder was it that those who heard were stirred to their innermost souls, and that strong men wept like children, and women dropped sobbing on the turf. A Distressing Sight, r3 The crew of the ill-fated vessel was also moved, for as the woman's voice rang out — " Hide me, O my Saviour, hide: they were seen to bare their heads, and stood grouped about the tar barrel with clasped hands, and eyes uplifted. One of the crew — an old man — was heard to join his weather-crazed old voice to her beautiful soprano, but it died with the effort.

Then the little lad above her on the mast lent his sweet childish treble to the hymn, and as he did his best he placed his hands together — palm to palm — and looked, as the women afterwards said, as children look when they are saying their prayers at their mother's knee. The woman's voice did not falter for one moment, and the last lines were sung so melodiously that it sounded unearthly in its sweetness. The last note had hardly died away in the roar of the breakers, when the wind, which until now seemed to have been held in leash by invisible hands, burst into a hurricane, and the over-wrought spectators saw the waves shoulder the barque and fling her, shuddering and shivering like a thing that had life, in on the rocks. The white howling breakers were seen to envelope her, and there was heard a wail of despair ; then nothing more save the wild utterances of the wind and sea.

Chapter II. On Board The Wreck

♦•#OT one who saw the vessel hurled on to the rock, Tjf and heard that heart-breaking cry, will ever Igo forget the terrible ten minutes that followed. No words can express the fury of the gale, and the people themselves were lifted off their feet by the force of the wind and flung backwards. They could not stand against it, and women had to lie down until the storm had spent its rage. It was very dark ; the only light now was the light of "the storm-flogged sea" and hurled foam which dashed over the point where the people were huddled like so many sheep. If they longed for light before the vessel was flung on the rocks, they longed for it more now, for they felt that they themselves were in no little danger. The storm at length lulled, and the moon, which from the breaking out of the wind had been shrouded in clouds, was now issuing forth.

No sooner did her light fall on the point than up sprang Captain Pascoe, Tom Trebiskin and twenty others, and peered down out into the seething caldron of water. " Is the vessel ground to matchwood ? " cried many voices. " I can't tell," the old sea captain made answer ; "but I can see something dark thrust up agin the cliff. On Board the Wreck. 15 If it is the vessel, 'tis a miracle, and no mistake ! If only I had cat's eyes to see along with in the dark ! " " Have patience, Captain, we shall have a bonfire in a few minutes," cried Mr. Tredarrup, who was one of the first to look down the gloomy face of the point. " There are men now bringing in bundles of dry furze and turf," and he hastened away to help in setting it alight. The moment the fire blazed up in the hollow the old skipper again looked over the cliff.

" I was right, the vessel is there," he roared. " She is jammed home agin the cliff, with her stern under water." " Be the poor souls all drowned ? " cried a woman. "Yes, every o'mun," returned the skipper; "the woman and the dear little cheeld an' all." " You are mistaken, Cap'n Pascoe," cried Tom Trebiskin, whose great body was hanging over the edge of the point, to the dismay of many. " They — the woman and boy, I mean — are on the mast as sure as I am a living man." " Still there ? " shouted the old salt, stumbling to his feet and clutching the spy-glass that lay beside him. "Yes," said Tom Trebiskin, "and we must save them somehow." " How ? " he asked, rocking his glass as if it were a baby. " Somebody will have to be let down over the point," was the gruff answer, " and we'd better make haste about it, for the vessel can't stand the tearing seas much longer, that's certain."

" But there isn't a rope," cried the old sailor. " Yes, there is, Cap'n," returned the fisherman, pointing to a thick coil of rope lying on the ground close by them. " Don't 'ee see it ? " as the skipper groped about for it. os the Storm. " Ay, here it is, me hearty," he cried. "Aunt Judy sent it out from Portissyk," a voice struck in. "She sent an oil bag too, and a big can of oil." " Bless her ! " shouted the skipper. " A woman in a million is Aunt Judy ! But who is to be the man who will offer himself to be let down ?" looking round on a group of big stalwart fishermen. " I will," cried a dozen eagerly. " Mates," said Tom Trebiskin stepping out in their midst, " I am the one to go ; it won't be the first time by many I have battled with the breakers," as they began to protest. " You must let me go, sir," looking at Mr. Tredarrup.

" If the woman and the boy can be got at, Tom, I think you are the most fitting person to go," said the Rector with deep emotion, and he gripped the fisher man's big strong hand in a warm clasp as he spoke. As the rope was being fastened around Tom Trebis kin's armpits a dark-eyed little woman pushed her way to where he stood. It was his wife. " You are never going down the cliff to the wreck !" she cried, divining at a glance her husband's intention. " Don't 'ee go, Tom," she cried, clinging to him. " Think of me, dear, of Jane, Annie, little Jack, and the baby. You will never come back alive if you go." " Your wife is right, Tom, you must not go," cried the Rector. " We did not consider her and your children. I will go in your stead." "The likes of you don't know his own danger," cried Tom.

" I am the most fitting, as you have just said. If I don't come up alive, — well " — glancing round on the people — " I know you won't let my Bessie want, nor my little 'uns. Now, don't unman me, Bess," for his wife was sobbing. " If ever you was placed in a like position you would not think much of a man who would On Board the Wreck. I? not try and save 'ee. 'Tis for your sake I go as much as the woman's and the boy's. God bless thee, wife ! " After letting his huge hand cover her head for a moment, he moved to the edge of the point and waited to be lowered over the cliff, which, down to the water's edge, was two hundred feet or more. The rope was very thick and strong, but the man was of great weight, and it was with the utmost care that he was let down into the chasm, where the seas were making " lion leaps " to meet him as he descended.

He was hardly conscious that the jutting crags cut him as he went down, or that his hands were already bleed ing from jagged wounds, so intent was he in saving the woman and the boy — if they were yet alive. The waves almost engulfed him when he reached the bottom of the cliff, and but for the supporting rope and the oil bag fastened to his neck, and which dripped on the sea as he descended, he would have been sucked under the vessel, whose prow was thrown up and cradled on a black mass of rock. He climbed this rock in the teeth of tremendous difficulties, and catching hold of a rope hanging from the bow-sprit he slung himself on board. In quicker time than was deemed possible by the anxious spectators, he was standing below the mast where the woman and boy were bound. It was the work of a few minutes to free the woman from her perilous position and carry her to the lee galley-side of the barque — the one little spot free from breaking wave.

As he laid her down by the galley arm he felt a movement under the shawl that wrapped her slight form, and from that sign of life — the only sign, for she had every appearance of being dead — he believed she was still alive. By the sullen silence of the wind he knew only too well that the storm was preparing to break forth in wilder fury, and striding back to the mast — the only B one left — he cut the rope that held the lad. And not a minute too soon, for as he was taking him to where the woman lay a huge wave rose up out of the sea and smote the mast and carried it overboard. The fire on the cliff was well supplied, and its strong light was full on the vessel and lit up the place where the woman lay. Tom Trebiskin was putting the boy beside her when he was startled by what seemed a baby's hand thrust out of the folds of the shawl in which she was wrapped.

Ere he could make sure the storm was upon them, and the wreck was overwhelmed by leaping, wind-tormented waves. Tom Trebiskin believed his last hour had come, but he had the comfort of knowing that he had followed the Great Example in thus giving his life for others. And yet he was very sorrowful, thinking of his wife and little ones. As his mind was thus dwelling on them his eyes fell on the bag of oil that had helped his descent, and clutching it with a renewed hope he poured it out on the waves as they rose to break, which mercifully for him and those dear to him was efficacious in laying them low until the tempest had again worn itself out. The moment the gale had subsided and the fire was rekindled on the point, he hastened to look if it were really a child hidden within the folds of the woman's shawl.

It was indeed, a little yellow-haired thing, as the firelight and moonlight showed, nestled close to its mother's breast and safe as a fledgeling under the over spreading wings of its mother. It was peacefully sleeping and apparently unhurt. The warmth of the woman's body, and the small woollen shawl in which it was slung, hammock fashion from her neck, had kept it alive, and her sheltering arms, which were tightly knit about the bright little head, had also helped to preserve it from harm. It was with mixed feelings and moist eyes that the kind-hearted fisherman loosened On Board the Wreck. 19 those locked arms — no easy matter — and took the babe from its resting place. He was certain in his own mind that the poor young mother — if mother she was — was dead (she was not more than three-and-twenty), but if there was a spark of life left in her he felt he ought to give it a chance of being fanned into a flame, and so he was determined to send her up first.

Tremendous were the cheers that greeted him when the watchers on the headland saw him emerge from behind the bulk-head with the woman ; for they too had feared the worst, and his poor wife was beside herself with grief. Down came the rope weighted with a stone, and almost quicker than pen can tell the story the woman was drawn up the cliff. The disappointment was great when they found it was only a dead body they had pulled up so carefully. She had indeed sung her soul away, as the doctor said, who had come on the scene a few minutes after Tom Trebiskin had reached the wreck. But there was no time for sorrow, for the brave fisherman was again at the ship's bows with the boy on his neck and a little red bundle in his arms, waiting for the rope to descend. The lad was alive and conscious, but too exhausted to help himself.

Scores of eager hands were stretched over the head as Tom and his precious burdens were being drawn up, and hearts almost stopped beating when, amid breathless anxiety, the rope was thought to strain with the added weight. The hurricane of cheers that burst on the night when Tom Trebiskin was safely landed was heard at Portissyk, and the people in their frantic joy crushed forward to shake him by the hand. Tom, in his tender anxiety for the further safety of the babe— for the people pressed on him — had perforce to hand it to the skipper, who had been eyeing the small red bundle with questioning eyes. " Ay, 'tis a babby, Cap'n," he said, as the old salt peered into the bundle, " A little cheeld of the storm. Take it away quickly and quietly to Aunt Judy. For if the folks here get wind what's in the shawl the dear little life of it will have gone the way of the poor woman before to-morrow morning."

The old skipper was too amazed to utter a word, and covering the little bundle with his oil-skin he stole away unnoticed. When he was free of the crowd he went as fast as his short little legs would take him in the direction of Portissyk.

Chapter III. Aunt Judy And Uncle Silas

fHE Aunt Judy mentioned in the preceding chapter was a woman of about fifty-four, and she and her husband, Silas Vivian, were the proprietors of the emporium of the little town, where most things could be bought, from a Stilton cheese to a farthing dip, and a sou'-wester to a boot lace. The house where the shop was, was mean to ab surdity in its outward show, but it was much larger than it looked, and faced the pebbly beach and the Town Plat— a large piece of ground above high water mark, utilized in rough water by the entire fishing fleet, as it was to-night by Captain Pascoe, who crossed it to get to Aunt Judy's house. Late though it was — it was near the midnight hour — a light from the bow-shaped shop window told that the inmates had not yet retired to rest, and the skipper finding the side door unlocked made his way to an inner room and stood for a minute in the doorway looking in.

The room was lighted by a fire on the hearth-stone, where in one corner sat the woman of whom we have just spoken. In spite of her years she was of comely appearance, and her face, framed in a Quakerish cap, was beautiful in its serenity. She was unusually attractive — not only as regards her person ality, but in her dress. Her black alpaca gown was plain to severity, but it suited her, and it was relieved by a kerchief which had the fair whiteness of hawthorn buds and lay in softest folds on her bosom. The fireshine was sufficiently bright to shed a warm glow all over the room, and it revealed not only the sweet comeliness of Aunt Judy, but the large uncouth features of her husband, commonly called Uncle Si, who sat in the opposite corner. He was a very plain man, but his big flat face, over hung by a thatch of grizzled hair, was by no means displeasing, and the lines of humour about his small grey twinkling eyes showed that he was one of the kindest of his sex.

Behind Uncle Si was an old-world piece of furniture in the shape of a settle, in which two small boys were lying fast asleep. One of them — a dusky-haired, dark-. skinned little fellow — was Tom Trebiskin's little son, and the other, a striking contrast in his fairness and fluffy flaxen hair, was the only child of Mr. Roscarrock. "'Tis enough to make a man warm only to look in here," growled the skipper to make his presence known. " Late as it is, I made bould to come in without knock ing. I may come in, I s'p'ose ?" as Aunt Judy looked up. " Certainly," she cried, getting up. " It is never too late to see our friends, is it, Silas ? " glancing at her husband. " Depends entirely who they be," returned Uncle Silas, with slow deliberation and a twinkle in his eye. " Have you come from Varley Point ?

" asked Aunt Judy, as Captain Pascoe came towards the fire. " And was the rope of any service ? " " Of the greatest service," responded the skipper, his hoarse old voice betraying so much feeling that Uncle Silas looked up at him in surprise. " If it hadn't Aunt Judy and Uncle Silas. 23 a-been for your forethought, Aunt Judy, this poor little mortal would have been cradled in the breakers instead of here," and he tumbled the red bundle into her arms. " It is a babe!" she exclaimed, as a little cry came from under the shawl ; and the look of gladness that leapt to her sweet blue-grey eyes was beautiful to see. " Ay, 'tis a babby, Aunt Judy," laughed the old salt. " Tom Trebiskin saved it and tould me to take it to you. One would think you knew it was a-coming," his eyes falling on a clothes-horse laden with linen and little frilled nightgowns and other baby garments, behind her chair.