Fair Castaways. A romance of war and storm

Front matter

a .Romance of aÆJar anD BY F. H. WINDER, AUTHOR OF 'LOST IN AFRICA,' ETC. LONDON: EDEN, REMINGTON & CO., 18, HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN, W.C. 1891. (All rights reserved.) LONDON I PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS. TO JOHN WRIGHT, Esq., OF FOUR OAKS, SUTTON COLDFIELD. CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. A Doubtful Acceptance ... ... ... ... i II. Mischief Abroad ... ... ... ... 14 III. The Sowkins Family at Home ... ... ... 19 IV. Contraband ... ... ... ... ... 35 V. An Awkward Encounter ... ... ... 46 VI. The Straits of Magellan ... ... ... 60 VII. Snatched from the Arms of a Siren ... ... 69 VIII. Sowkins' Adventure in a Convent ... ... S3 IX. A Modern Sea-Fight ... ... ... ... 90 X. A Matrimonial Bargain ... ... ... 10S XI. Grace Meredith's Diversion ... ... ... 124 XII.

Ironclads in Action ... ... ... ... 141 XIII. Rapine ... 15S XIV. A Son of Erin ... ... ... ... 174 XV. Grace risks her Life ... ... ... ... 190 XVI. A Struggle with the Elements ... ... 212 XVII. Mr. Bowker is outwitted ... ... ... 232 XVIII. An Awful Catastrophe ... ... ... 252 XIX. Mutiny ... ... ... ... ... ... 266 XX. Fair Castaways ... ... ... ... 2S1 XXI. An Anxious Wooing ... .., ... ..

Chapter I

A DOUBTFUL ACCEPTANCE, One quiet autumn evening, in the year 1878, as the shadows gradually lengthened out over the village of Letforten in Westshire, the swarthy-looking blacksmith of the place might have been seen leaning on the haft of his great hammer, his work done and his conversation just ended with the sexton. The latter, as he leant against the unglazed window of the forge, had been chatting with this welder of iron as, time after time, he thrust his piece of unfinished work into the glowing embers on the hearth, and slowly brought the metal up to white heat again with steady pulls at the horn-ended lever which worked the bellows. As is usual when individuals of high or low degree begin to gossip, these two worthies had been discussing the weak points of their neighbours, and the final object of their attention was a young fellow who shortly before had passed down the village street with his hands in his pockets, and a short-tailed, saucy-looking terrier at his heels.

The sexton was very hard upon this young fellow and would hear nothing to his credit, while the blacksmith had taken his part and stoutly averred that the lad was ill-used; but the former was determined to have the last word, and as he hobbled off, he said : — ' 'E is a bad 'un, pa'son saays so and 'e knows.' Harold Wynne, the cause of the dispute between these two village moralists, was a bright, frank-looking, brown-haired man of some five and twenty years, a healthy specimen of the English race. At school and college he had not been a ' success,' if we omit cricket and athletics generally, but to the keen observer it was not difficult to see that he was possessed of a good deal of character. His chin and neck gave one the idea of power, and his blue-grey eyes intensified this, though without any hardness.

Harold's father, who was a widower with two children, a son and a daughter, lived at the Manor House in the village of Letforten in the South Midlands ; he was land-agent to the Duke of Landon, and his employer had no servant more faithful to his interests than he. John Wynne had the name of being a hard, grasping man of a somewhat fiery temper, with no thoughts for much else than the business of his master, the Duke ; and it was well known in the village that of late there had been many violent scenes between him and his son. For several years Harold had studied medicine, but failing twice at his final examination, he had thrown it up in disgust the work never having been really congenial to him. This naturally increased the tension which had for some time existed between father and son, and the former finally told Harold that he washed his hands of him altogether, and that for the future he must proceed on his own lines ; though of course the Manor House would still be open to him until he had had time to look about, and secure some means for getting a liveli hood.

These differences between father and son were soon the talk of the village, and though there were many who ventured to assert the fault did not all lie on one side, still Mr. Wynne was a man of importance in the small circle and so he had the greater following in this wretched dispute. Harold, alas ! had no mother, and his sister Janet, — who was one of those truly angelic women, full of quiet sympathy and good sense, so often met with in this life, and passed over in favour of their more beautiful, but less worthy sisters, — though generally a successful mediator with her father, found it utterly impossible to move him in this matter, and in spite of all her generous efforts on behalf of the brother she loved so well, he was obdurate and more inclined to widen than close the breach. Janet had no other brothers or sisters, and at times the thought that this one was to go went nigh unto breaking her heart.

One morning, about this time, Janet asked her brother if he would care to go with her to the rectory that afternoon, as her friend, Miss Meredith, — a niece of the rector's who had been adopted by him recently — had returned, and there was to be a small tennis-party. ' I can't stand the rector, Janet, old girl ; and you know he doesn't love me,' he replied, to her query ; ' since he came into that " pile " of money the man's become quite unbearable ; besides, I expect the girl is not up to much or she would never have consented to be adopted by such an uncle.' 'Oh, isn't she though?' cried Janet, indignantly; 'wait until you know her; she is full of life, with plenty of character, and she has the sweetest expression I ever saw on a girl's face.' ' Haven't you a glass in your room, sister mine ? ' ' Don't be foolish, Harold.

But you'll come, won't you ? ' 'Well! I suppose I must,' said Harold, in a resigned manner. ' Suppose you must ! You great stupid ! Do you think I don't know you're just dying to see the girl ? ' As Harold and Janet entered the rectory gate they noticed some people on the lawn, and Miss Meredith at once came forward to greet them. It was the first time Harold had seen her, except at a distance, and when Janet introduced them, she was amused at the expression of pleased surprise which passed over his face as he quietly took stock of her friend. Grace Meredith was a girl full of spirit and with a good deal of character in her bright, youthful face, and though she might not be considered beautiful by many, her expression was very charming and full of that taking abandon, just tempered with seriousness, which attracts men with such ease, and so often causes them to be overwhelmed with astonish ment, when they discover that its fair owner is not so easily won as her smiles.

She was very fair, with a well-nigh faultless complexion and soft curly tresses, fashioned coquettishly high up on the crown of her shapely head. The beauty of her figure prevented her from seeming tall, though she was in stature above the average; and she carried herself with such grace and freedom of movement as is given to few women. When the afternoon drew to an end, and all the other visitors had left, Janet, Grace and Harold walked about together for a time in the rectory grounds, and then brother and sister turned their steps homeward, in the gloaming. ' Well ? ' said Janet, interrogatively, when they had covered about half the short distance in silence. ' Well ! ' responded her brother, in an absent way, 'You stupid fellow; what do you think of her? Isn't she delightful ? ' Harold was silent for a few moments, and then he exclaimed ' She's just splendid, old girl !

If a fellow had something like that to look forward to, it would put some heart into his work, even a worthless beggar like me.' Just as they passed into the hill of the Manor House, Janet put her two hands on Harold's shoulders, and raising herself lightly on her toes, kissed him, and then went upstairs. She, like other good women, knew the value of her peers in worth, and she felt that if only she could get her brother mated with a girl like Grace, it would be the making of him. A good woman only can bring such a man's real worth to the surface, a bad or silly one may easily irretrievably sink it. The following day Harold again saw Miss Meredith ; this time, however, it happened quite by accident. It was a very warm day for the time of year, and when lunch was over, he strolled off into the fields with a book of travels under his arm intending to enjoy a lazy afternoon.

He had just settled him self down on a grassy spot among some furze bushes that filled up the corner of the field into which he had wandered, when he was annoyed by hearing a lot of children calling out to each other and evidently making for where he was. ' Confound it all,' thought he, ' those must be the curate's noisy youngsters, and I shall have to shift my quarters if I wish for peace. One never can get any real rest in this world ; now if Miss Meredith were with them I might be able to exert myself a little and talk to her, but these horrid young beggars are sure to bother me to play cricket. Happy thought, I'll stow myself away,' and crawling stealthily behind a thick bush he lay down flat on his back and resumed his book. The voices sounded nearer and nearer until the bang of the gate told Harold that his conjectures were right, and that the swarm of youngsters had already taken possession of the field. ' Tip and run, I say ! ' piped out a small shrill voice. ' No, single wicket, three a side ! ' retorted another. ' No ! ' ' Yes ! ' ' No ! ' followed in quick succession.

Then a girl's voice said, ' If you have sides, which shall I play for ? There are seven of us.' ' Hallo ! ' thought Harold, on hearing Miss Meredith's voice, 'that's jolly; I can go and talk to her; but I'll reconnoitre first.' And raising himself on his elbows, he calmly surveyed the disputing group— for the boys were still shouting at each other, and seemed strongly to object to having a girl in the game. ' Oh bother ! girls can't play cricket ; you can't run in that frock ! ' called out the eldest lad, disdainfully. ' But I can play and I shall, and I'm going to tuck up my frock,' answered Grace, in a very decided way, to this boyish sally ; and forthwith she began to fasten up her skirt all round in a way which clinched the matter and set further disputation at naught, and the game was soon in full swing. ' Well, this is a bit awkward,' said Harold to himself, as he enjoyed the scene. 'I can't get away without being noticed, and she's sure to feel hurt if she knows I've seen her thus.

But by Jove ! doesn't she look charming in that short costume ? it just suits her.' The lady proceeded to ' knock up ' a big score, much to the boys' disgust, and soon another argument began. ' That's out ! ' cried the eldest boy, who was bowling, ' clean leg before wicket ! ' And a roar of delight went up from the younger ones. Grace, who was rubbing her ankle after the blow from the ball, looked up in astonishment, and said, incredulously: — ' Out ! of course it's not out ; why, the wicket wasn't touched ! ' ' I tell you, you're out ! ' retorted the bowler. ' Your clumsy legs were right in front of the wicket.' ' Don't be rude, Tom, ladies haven't such things, and I shan't go out unless I'm bowled or caught.' ' Well ! it isn't fair, and girls have got legs,' growled Tom. ' Play, I tell you ! ' cried Grace ; and after a little more juvenile grumbling the game proceeded.

When a few more runs had been made, Grace lifted a ball right into the gorse, and Tom immediately called out, ' Lost ball!' The words were hardly out of his mouth, when a low groan from the midst of the bushes attracted their attention ; the ball had fallen on Harold's head. ' What's that ! ' cried Grace, in terror, as they saw Harold rising slowly into a standing position, with one hand held fast to the top of his head. Grace at once dropped to the ground, as though she had been shot, and hurriedly let down her skirt ; she did not at all like being caught romping by him, and though he knew she would feel somewhat uncomfortable, he could not go away without saying anything or apologizing for his interruption. When Harold first rose into view the players stood staring at him as though he were a ghost, but their surprise soon passed away, and a wild rush was made for him ; to pacify the boys he promised to play with them the next day, and then going towards Grace, who was sitting on the grass, he lifted his hat, and said, ' You've not hurt me much, Miss Meredith ; I'm so sorry to have interfered with your game.' ' Oh thank you, it does not matter, I've done,' answered Grace, in rather a frigid manner.

Then she added in a softer tone, ' I do hope I've not hurt you, but really I couldn't help it.' ' Of course not, it was entirely my fault,' replied Harold, rather enjoying the situation, ' and my skull is too thick to be broken by a cricket-ball, though for the moment it did half stun me.' ' I say, Mr. Wynne, isn't " leg before " out ? ' broke in Tom, de lighted at the thought of being able to humble Grace a little, for what he considered her presumption in wishing to play cricket. Harold was rather nonplussed at this, and to get out of the difficulty he ignored the question and said, ' Won't you really go on with the game, Miss Meredith ? I feel quite ashamed of myself for being the cause of stopping it.' ' No, thanks, I must go now ; good afternoon,' answered Grace, as she hurried away, looking rather uncomfortable, while the glance she bestowed on Master Tom would have shrivelled up any full-grown man ; but that dreadful youth only looked pleased, and remarked, ' I'm jolly glad you're going, Grace, we can play cricket now.' Harold was pressed very much to join in the game, but he declined, saying that he would ' umpire ' for them ; and as he sat smoking his pipe and watching the youngsters, his thoughts were full of the girl who had just left them, and he was decidedly savagely inclined towards the boys and everything else at losing his anticipated pleasant chat with Miss Meredith.

He was specially cross with Tom for his rudeness towards her, and vented his wrath upon the poor lad by giving him out ' leg before ' without a shade of justification, and then he sauntered away to find a quiet spot wherein to spend the rest of the afternoon. During the following few weeks Harold saw a good deal of Grace Meredith, and, in thought, he was always with her ; he had by this time no doubt of his own feelings towards the girl, but when he came to scrutinize the other side of the question, despairing doubt would seize upon and torture him. ' Grace Meredith likes me,' he thought, ' but that it is any thing more I dare not think.' At last Harold determined to know his fate, and when once his mind was made up he felt more at ease ; for though a near approach to the brink in any crisis may terrify a coward, it but steadies the heart of a true man and enables him to brace up his nerves for the final effort.

Mr. Ewing, the rector, seemed now, more than ever, to object to Harold's presence in his house, and the reverend gentleman's behaviour towards him became so exceedingly exasperating and churlish that he felt there was indeed sore trouble in store for him, even should Grace prove herself to be his ally. Harold's sister, Janet, was passionately fond of sketching and painting, and one evening, about this time, she bribed him to accompany her to a neighbouring valley, where choice bits of scenery crowded the landscape, by arranging for Grace to go with them ; there was some water here with a boat upon it, and Harold, ever on the watch for an opportunity of speaking to Grace, consented at once. It was a perfect evening, such as would make us all fain be painters, that we might catch the glorious, ever-changing effects, ere they passed away, and the black night should come to cover all with its sombre gloom.

A walk in such company and amid such scenes should make any man content, but though Harold was outwardly the gayest of the three, he was in reality ill at ease, as he strolled along between the two girls, chatting blithely, and carefully hiding his intents. Now and again a change came over their merry mood, and the three would pause to gaze at the sunlit, varying sky, and then go on again sobered by its rare loveliness. And so they quietly wandered on towards the edge of the lake, Janet intent on watching the changing shadows flit over the scene, as she sketched out her picture in her mind, and Harold often glancing somewhat fearfully at Grace, as she walked demurely by his side, her fair face full of deep thought, and all the airy lightness gone for the present from her soul. Her instinct told her that fate had some surprise in store for her, and she dreaded it.

She could not help noticing Harold's admiration, and of late, in her lonely moments, the knowledge of this had troubled her greatly, for she was not one to give encouragement until sure of her own feelings, and as yet she was all in doubt. On reaching the edge of the pool, near the boat-house, Janet settled herself down to paint, full of the beauty of the scene, and longing with an artist's impulsiveness to transfer it in haste to her canvas, ere the beautiful colours should fade and die away ; for the evening was drawing on apace and the effect must be snatched or lost for ever. When his sister had set to work, Harold proposed a row, and having brought out the boat, he handed Grace into it ; then, to his disgust, just as they were disappearing round a clump of willows, which hung gracefully over the water, at a point where the land jutted out somewhat into the lake, he saw the rector come up to where Janet was sketching and take a seat by her side.

Grace, having her back that way, did not notice her uncle, and Harold, on a serious purpose intent, thought it better not to mention the matter, so he swung the boat round the trees out of sight, and did not cease pulling until he had placed nearly half-a-mile between them and the rector. After they had been slowly drifting for a time, each silent, Harold tossed his oars into the boat and blurted out : — ' Miss Meredith — Grace, I want to ask you something.' Grace slightly inclined her head, but she did not speak as she leant back in her seat, looking towards the setting sun, and away from Harold's face ; but it was not so with him. Looking straight at her, and speaking in grim earnest, he went on : — ' God knows I do not wish to trouble you, but when we first met my whole heart went out towards you, and I love you, Grace, with a love that nothing can kill.

You have the whole future of my life in your keeping ! — is there any hope for me ? ' Then after a pause, during which Grace remained silent, though by the quick rising and falling of her bosom, he could see that she was not unmoved : — ' Oh, give me some hope ! say something to show that I have not hurt you, and that in time, perhaps, if not now, there may be some small place in your heart for my strong love ! ' Then he leaned towards her, waiting anxiously for her answer. Slowly she turned her face towards him, and stretching forth her hands with exquisite pathos, as though she dreaded to say too much, or yet too little, she said, speaking almost in a whisper : — ' I wished to spare you this ; the love you offer me is great indeed, and I fear I am not worthy of it. It is so soon since we were strangers ; perhaps ' 'There 'is then hope for me!' cried Harold, noting her indecision and too easily auguring success from it. ' Grace, where are you ? ' came suddenly in a stilted, querulous voice from the other side of some bushes near to where the boat had drifted ; and almost before they had time to recover themselves the rector came down to the side of the lake and Grace called out, ' Here we are, uncle ; were you looking for me ? ' When they landed, the rector walked off with Grace, after shaking hands with Janet, and giving a curt ' good evening ' to Harold ; he had not seen the little affair in the boat, but it was clear from his manner, that for some reason or other, he strongly objected to the two being together.

Grace kept her eyes on the ground, when she said ' good night ' to Harold, and as the poor fellow turned to pick up Janet's things he gave vent to an almost inaudible groan ; he had no chance of saying anything further to her, and now she left him without daring to look him in the face. As they walked home together, Harold soon discovered that his sister had not noticed anything; she seemed full of her picture, and could talk of nothing but the delightful effects and colours she had been feasting her eyes upon during the time they were away in the boat, and so he decided to say nothing until such time as he should have been able to get something more definite from Grace, then he would tell her all.

Chapter II. Mischief Abroad

The following morning Harold came down late ; the breakfast room was already deserted, his father having gone out, and Janet being, as was usual with her in the mornings, busy about the house. On sitting down to the table, two letters caught his eye ; one was directed in a quaint, delicate handwriting, — such as ladies used in the olden times, when they cared not to ape the manners and ways of men, and yet were brilliant withal, — and as he picked it up a seeling of apprehension came over him, and his hand trembled a good deal as he broke the covering. It was from Grace, and ran as follows : — ' Dear Mr. Wynne, ' I do not know what you will think of me, but I must tell you at once that I fear I gave you too much encouragement yesterday. I could not become engaged to you unless I felt quite sure of myself.

You must forgive me if this hurts you very much, but I did not mean to mislead you ; oh do think of me if you can with a little forbearance ! ' Grace Meredith.' At first Harold felt quite stunned by this letter • he had MISCHIEF ABROAD. 15 instinctively dreaded some evil news on seeing it, but not that Grace did not love him. He was hit very hard, and for the moment the blow staggered him. Then after a time, he began to think that perhaps the suddenness of his declaration had startled her, and that eventually his strong love for her would vanquish all her doubts, and enable him to win her. Picking up the other note, he tore the envelope open ; it was from the rector, and ran thus : — 'Sir, ' I may be mistaken, but of late I have fancied that you have been paying my niece some attention. That you should do so but confirms my opinion of your presumption, and for the future I must request you to abstain from visiting my house, and to refrain from intruding yourself upon Miss Meredith. ' When I am called away to a better world, my niece will be possessed of large means, as doubtless you are aware, and it is only reasonable to expect that a gentleman of position would feel honoured by her accepting him.

I have not thought it necessary to speak to my niece on the subject. ' Yours, etc., James Ebenezer Ewing.' ' The mean, sordid beggar ! ' muttered Harold, as he flung the note on the ground and started to his feet. ' I will see her acrain.' And then he commenced to pace up and down the room, as he strove to stifle down the rage and grief which tortured him. At one moment he would feel fearfully depressed, and the next, as he thought of the concluding sentence of Grace's letter, his hopes would rise again, and with them his rage at what he considered Mr. Ewing's despicable meanness. Then he sat down and wrote to Grace, telling her that he feared the suddenness of his question had caused her pain, and that her doubting was only to be expected under such circum stances, but that with a little time all this would pass away, and give place, perhaps, to some little love for him ; but should it prove otherwise, then she need fear no trouble from him, as he should go away and keep his trial to himself.

In the afternoon, Harold started out with the intention of giving his letter to Grace as she passed through a small coppice which lay between the rectory and the church. She always attended the choir practice, and he thought he could depend upon her being alone; his idea was merely to give her the letter, and so leave her to decide his fate. Harold walked slowly through the wood until he reached the gate at the other end through which Grace would have to pass ; and then, as she was not in sight, he stepped out of the footway and seated himself on the ground behind a clump of undergrowth. And lighting his pipe, he lay back against the soft green bank which ran along the edge of the coppice, and waited for her, watching the pale blue wreaths of smoke rise softly upwards with a seeming patience which was not at all real.

At last the sound of footsteps approaching reached his ears, and looking through the hedge, he saw Grace walking slowly towards the gate accompanied by a young fellow who was a stranger to him. She looked more serious than was usual with her, and her companion seemed to be urging something very MISCHIEF ABROAD. 17 strongly upon her. Harold was naturally disgusted to find that she was not alone, and could not imagine who the man was, as he knew every one in the district, and had not heard of any visitors coming to stay at the rectory. The two continued talking very earnestly, and just as they passed through the gate Harold was staggered by hearing Grace say, ' How can you doubt that I love you as of old ? Uncle is very good to me ; so go now, and you may rely upon my writing directly I have his consent.' And with that she kissed him, and they parted, Grace going on to the church, and the stranger striking off across the fields towards the main road, which led to the nearest station, distant about three miles.

Harold had watched this scene without moving, and as the whole import of the girl's words forced itself upon the poor fellow's mind, his face turned a livid, ashen hue. At first, he gave utterance to a low laugh, such as one hears from imbe ciles, and then he relapsed into perfect immovability, nothing but the lingering smoke which hung above the fallen pipe as it lay on the ground at his feet, showing that there was still life in the human form which sat crouching above it like a thing cut out of stone. All around was supremely still. How long he sat thus was never really known to himself, but as the sun lingered on the horizon, — poised for a few moments, as though for a last gaze on one beautiful world, ere it should transfer its glorious radiance to another sphere — Harold slowly regained possession of himself, and rising, he shook his body, as a dog would after escaping from a miry water-hole, and then walked quietly home, tearing his letter into fragments c as he went, and scattering his song of love to the winds.