The cruize of the daring : a tale of the sea / by C.F. [i.e. F.C.] Armstrong

Chapter I

About four-and- twenty miles from Waterford, stood, in the year 17 9-, scattered over half a square mile, in anything but picturesque confusion, the insignificant and little frequented town of Dungarvon, consisting of a number of small houses, small tenements, and innumerable mud hovels.

There is an old saying in those parts of Ireland, when anything unusual is likely to occur, " Oh, it will make jolly Dungarvon shake;" but

VOL. I. B

2 THE CRUIZE OF THE DARTNG.

we presume nothing unusual did happen at the period of our story, or jolly Dungarvon would have shaken itself into ship-shape, or some other kind of shape, and thereby improved its appearance.

Within a mile or so of this said town, and close to the sea-beach, was a remarkably pretty cottage, its front facing a wide estuary of the sea, protected from the waves by a long spit of land or barrow. At high tide this estuary resembled a beautiful lake; but at low water it was a vast bed of slime and mud, neither picturesque, nor very pleasant to the olfactory nerves. The view was bounded by a range of high hills to the south and west, while the open sea lay to the southward and eastward. The cottage had a large garden at the back, enclosed by high stone walls, and the scenery without the walls was rather pretty than otherwise. This cottage had one very great advantage : there was neither cabin nor hovel nearer to it than the town.

In this pleasant residence, consisting of eight rooms — comfortably, if not elegantly, furnished — lived a gentleman named De Burgh, a widower, and his only son, four years of age; one female, of about two or three-and-thirty years of age, very honest, very thrifty, but rather deaf, who acted in the capacity of housekeeper, cook, and housemaid; these were the only inmates, if we except divers persons hired at times for gardening and other purposes.

Mr. De Burgh was a remarkably fine and handsome man, and at the period of his selecting Dungarvon as a residence, was not more than two-and-thirty years of age. Though his manner was reserved and stately, and his features always bore a sad and serious expression, his liberality to all he employed, and his exceeding kindness to the poor or indigent — and they abounded in jolly Dungarvon — made him much loved and respected; he received no visitors, except at rare intervals, when he conversed for an hour or so with either the curate or the parish priest.

His selection of this retired residence, in so b 2 remote and thinly-populated a town, with scarcely a resident gentleman in the immediate vicinity; his retired mode of life, and his serious, sad, but very handsome features, created, as usual, a considerable amount of guesses and surmises as to whom he could be; and why so handsome a gentleman, and one so young in years, should bury himself, even in "jolly Dungarvon."

There are gossips everywhere, and why should there not be some in Dungarvon? But all their thoughts, guesses, and inuendos were mere " bosh," for they came to no other conclusion than that it was very strange, very extraordinary, and there must be a reason for it — who knows, and so forth. After a time, the gossiping died a natural death, and Mr. De Burgh lived in peace.

His little boy's name was Francis; everyone that saw admired him, for he was in truth a most lovely child, and his father seemed to idolize him. The boy grew rapidly, and at seven years old was a remarkably fine, intelligent little fellow ; but so fond of the sea, boats, &c, that he kept both his father and their attendant, Jane, in continual hot water, and oftentimes salt water, watching him.

Dungarvon at that period possessed a great number of fishing hookers, remarkably fine boats, ranging from ten to twenty tons burden ; their crews were hardy, venturesome seamen — pilots when wanted — would face any weather, but, like most sailors, singularly superstitious.

The entrance to Dungarvon Harbour, which is only a natural one, is up a long, tortuous channel, with sand banks, and shoals, and rocks intersecting it, requiring skill and seamanship to bring a boat or vessel safely up to the town. At the time of our story there was a ford across the river, which divided the town into two unequal parts, over which there is now a stone bridge. The river was shallow, except during floods and high tides, and emptied itself into the sea, running past Mr. De Burgh's cottage. It was customary with the pilot-boats and fishing hookers to anchor opposite the cottage, to wait for tide, and sometimes to land their fish.

Francis De Burgh was well known to all the fishermen, for he delighted in getting into their punts, to rock himself about in them, whenever he could escape from the vigilance of Jane.

Mr. De Burgh possessed a fine and rather large library, purchased in London, and forwarded in boxes to Dungarvon. He passed most of his time reading, and instructing his son; he spoke several languages, and was well learned in navigation. His only recreation was either working in the garden, of which exercise he seemed fond, or walking out with his little boy.

One morning young Francis was in the front of the cottage, when a fine hooker anchored before it, and the crew came ashore in the punt, and walked up to the town, leaving their boat on the beach, held by a small grapnel. Francis got into the boat, and pushed out the length of the rope with a boat-hook, to amuse himself rocking her ; but, from carelessness, the rope was ill fastened, and slipt through the ring, and the boat, caught by the strong tide, drifted rapidly out. Frank, not at all frightened, tried to lift one of the oars to scull back; but being too heavy for him, it slipped out of his hand, and making a grasp at it, he overbalanced himself, and fell over the side.

Completely bewildered by this sudden immersion, he sunk, but coming up, and being a stouthearted boy, he made a vigorous attempt to keep himself up. When nearly exhausted, he suddenly felt himself grasped by the collar, and heard a voice say, " Don't be frightened, and don't catch hold of I, and I'll take 'ee ashore ;" and accordingly ashore the bold swimmer took him, just as Mr. De Burgh — without a coat, for he had been working in the garden at the time of the accident— and Jane, both alarmed by the screams of some fisherwomen who beheld the accident, rushed to the water's edge.

The youth who had saved Francis was a stout, open-featured, fine lad, not more than four years older than the little boy.

" You are a brave lad," said Mr. De Burgh to Francis's preserver, taking up his son in his arms, and telling the boy to follow him into the cottage.

" Faix, your honour," replied the lad, " I must cotch the boat, or father will be mad."

And quite coolly he jumped into the water, feeling as comfortable in the said element as a Newfoundland dog, and swam after the boat, scrambled in, and then sculled after the oar which had caused the accident, and having picked it up, returned on board the hooker.

Young de Burgh took the matter quite as coolly as his preserver, told his father he must let Bill Mullaghan — the name of the lad, he knew him very well, as Bill had often rowed him out about the lake, while keeping watch over the hooker — he must let Bill Mullaghan teach him to swim.

Mr. De Burgh with great difficulty prevailed upon Bill to take even a couple of guineas for a reward ; but he eagerly accepted the office of swimming tutor to Master Frank, always at first under the eyes of his father, who took a great fancy to Bill, and taught him to read and write, and some useful knowledge besides.

Old Bill Mullaghan, the father, was a man tolerably well to do in the world ; he owned the pilot-boat, the St. Patrick, the finest hooker in the port. He had two sons, so Bill was often spared to boat and play with Master Frank, to whom he became most singularly and firmly devoted. When Francis De Burgh reached his sixteenth year, and Bill his twentieth, they became noted for their daring exploits in boats. They often took the hooker out by themselves, and performed several singular achievements in boarding ships, and piloting them in under the Helwick Head.

Notwithstanding these exploits, and destroying large numbers of wild ducks, Francis De Burgh devoted many hours of the day to study. His father, like the admirable Crichton, seemed

b 5 to excell in all accomplishments. At sixteen, Frank spoke French and Italian fluently, studied hard at Latin and Greek, could fence exceedingly well, and had a singularly correct ear for music ; and before he was eighteen, became well grounded in navigation, &c, &c.

Frank idolized his father, whose health seemed considerably impaired of late ; he suffered, without complaining, a disease of the heart, but did not consider it dangerous. At that period this disease was not much understood.

Francis thought his father intended him for the sea, and being passionately fond of the water, he would gladly have become a midshipman; he could reef, steer, splice a rope, or serve a block with any man in or out of Dungarvon; knew the dangers of the harbour, and the bay without, as well as the oldest pilot; and such confidence had the men in his courage, skill, and good fortune, that they would go to sea with him, no matter what the weather, provided he expressed a wish to go. As to Bill Mullaghan, he swore there was not such another youth from Waterford to Cape Clear, the only two extremities of his native land that Bill was acquainted with.

And Francis De Burgh merited Bill's encomiums, for at the age of twenty it was impossible to behold a finer or more athletic youth, full six feet in height, uniting in his person a singular and natural gracefulness with great muscular strength. His features were extremely pleasing and fascinating in their bland expression ; to so pleasing an exterior he added a bold, high-spirited temper, excessive good-nature, and a most prepossessing frankness.

Bill Mullaghan had grown into a fine muscular man, with a fist capable of felling an ox; an open, cheerful face, and an inexhaustible stock of good-humour. In his own mind he was fully determined to follow his young master to the end of the world, but where that was Bill did not enquire ; he always declared he would go, whenever Master Francis should leave Dungarvon.

At twenty years of age, young De Burgh thought it was time that he should see a little more of the world than Dungarvon, Waterford, and the wild sea coast east and west of them. His father's library afforded him works relating to all parts of the world, and being fond of reading, of a social and cheerful nature, the uncommon retirement in which his father lived, was in fact becoming too serious a trial for so young and high-spirited a youth.

Latterly Mr. De Burgh went oftener to Waterford, and generally remained absent three or four days; once he was actually a week away, and young De Burgh became alarmed, though his father always told him not to be under any apprehension should he be detained longer than he anticipated.

Francis had never heard his father mention his mother. There were neither portraits nor pictures in the cottage; the only remarkable article of furniture was a very beautifully inlaid cabinet, about three feet high and two broad. This stood in his father's bed-room. Latterly his father wrote much, and alwajs locked up what he wrote in this cabinet, as well as all the letters he received. Francis was neither of a curious nor prying disposition; he would not for worlds let his beloved father suppose that he wished to inquire into any circumstances that his parent did not think fit to make him acquainted with. Such, then, was the posture of affairs in the month of January, in the year 1798. We have not remarked upon the unhappy state of Ireland at this memorable period, because we do not intend to meddle or express our opinion upon the political, religious, or social state of the Emerald Isle, then on the eve of a great rebellion; we intend simply to state events as they became connected with the future fate of our hero; therefore our readers will not be detained by observations, remarks, or opinions upon the many parties that troubled unhappy Ireland at that most miserable period. As yet Dungarvon remained tolerably tranquil, though the surrounding country was considerably disturbed. Just at this time an event occurred that eventually turned the current of our hero's life into another and widely different channel.

Chapter II

We have remarked in our preceding pages that the fishing population of Dungarvon, as, indeed, that of any other fishing town in Ireland was remarkably superstitious, and singularly given to regarding omens, some of them highly ludicrous. On no account, if it were possible to avoid it, would the men go to sea to fish or pilot on a Friday. If on their way to their boats their path was crossed by an old woman or a pig, they would either make a circuit of a mile, or stay at home. Two straws crossed lying in their way was awful. There were numerous other omens to be regarded, but these are sufficient for our purpose. Oftentimes the bay swarmed with herrings or mackerel, but from having encountered one or other of these signs, the fish were left to take their departure. The case is something altered now in Ireland, but we speak of sixty years ago — a long time in this galloping and scientific age.

Within half a mile of Mr. De Burgh's cottage was the residence of the parish Priest, Father O'Flagherty; a merry, good-hearted, and attentive pastor was the priest; he looked after not only the souls of his numerous and indigent parishioners, but attended to their worldly welfare. Father O'Flagherty was not one of those worthy fathers, who kept a brace of greyhounds and a very smart niece to look after their establishment; his housekeeper was an ancient dame, and the only quadrupeds belonging to his establishment were a well-fed pony, and a remarkably sagacious torn cat.

Nothing annoyed the priest more than to see the crews of the fishing boats staying at home, and the bay full of herrings. In vain their pastor lectured them, told them they were a parcel of " Omadawns."

All the answer he could get was :

"True for you, Father, so we are; but it's unlucky to go out on a Friday; and faix I myself," said a huge broad-shouldered pilot, " met this morning ould Nanny Sticks, and her pig, right in my path, and, be gorree, the next moment the wiDd blowed one straw right over another making a big cross ; sure, your reverence, after that; and the wind howling like a wild baste, who'd go out?"

" You'r a disgrace to your sex, Tom Murphy," angrily exclaimed the priest, " the Almighty sends you plenty of fish, right before your noses, and because a harmless old woman, and a pig — oh, my conscience! You'd eat the pig fast enough if it was salted and hanging up in your cabins. "

" Oh, by the powers, your reverence," exclaimed many of the group the priest was talking to, " it wouldn't be a pig then, it would be bacon, and for the matter of that, faix, it's not very often the likes of us gets bacon."

" Ye don't deserve it, ye pack of idle hulks;

but I'll manage you next Easter, wait a bit, since you won't get me a dish of good fresh herrings when they are just ready to jump into the frying pan for the asking. I'll know how to manage ye."

This little scene happened after coming out of chapel one Friday morning. It had blown hard the previous three or four days, and none of the boats had put to sea. Bill Mullaghan, who was much less given to minding omens, thanks to Mr. De Burgh's instructions in his boyhood, said to three or four of his comrades, as they sauntered idly down to the beach :

" Be gor, I have a great mind to go out with the hooker for a run as far as Helwick Head; Mister Frank wanted sadly this morning to have a cruize."

" Be Jabers, I don't care if I go!" said one of the best hands, which was responded to by two others, "if Master Francis will go; we won't take our nets, but we can stand off, and see if any ships want pilots."

Mr. De Burgh was accustomed to witness his son take those trips in the hooker, and as Francis had studied hard the last week, and had but little exercise, he made no other remark than telling him to take a couple of bottles of wine with him, and some cold provisions, as it would be impossible to return with that night's tide.

Mr. De Burgh was very busy writing, so Francis filling a basket gave it to Bill to carry aboard, and half-an-hour after, the St. Patrick was standing out with a stiff breeze from the southward and westward, to the great surprise of some of the old hands, who shook their heads predicting that no good could come of a cruise on such a day, and after so many bad omens.

" But Mister Francis is a Protestant," said one, "and more's the pity; he laughs at us, but it's good humouredly. Tare and nouns, after all, he's as fine a lad as any in ould Ireland."

The channel out from Dungarvon into the open waters of the bay is an extremely intricate one, and can only be attempted by vessels with a leading wind, a good pilot, and three quarters flood. About three miles out is a safe anchorage, called the Pool, where vessels may lie afloat, protected from the surges by the land to the northward and east, and the Deadman Sands to the south-west. Two miles further lies the reef of the Helwiek, a long range of rocks, lying off Prehan point, with a passage, but a dangerous one, between the reef and the land, while to the westward lies the bold headland called Helwiek Head. Under this head, large ships, if piloted in, may lie in safety in storms, from the nor'-west to sou'-sou'-west. A gale from east or south-east would be sure to drive any vessel at anchor under the Head, ashore.

Frances De Burgh, as he steered through the intricate channel, observed to Bill Mullaghan, that it looked very like a return of the old gale from the southward and eastward; it was so thick and hazy seaward, and the ground swell ran in, breaking on the Helwiek sands with tremendous violence.

" Eaix, there's no doubt in the world of it," said Bill, " my ould father said as much this morning, and that he would not wonder but that we would fall in with some of the homeward bound Liverpool ships ; it has been so thick this week back. Let us stretch well out on the next tack, Mister Frank ; be gor, now we open the sea, clear of the Head, we begin to feel the chop; there's been a very heavy gale to the southward which does not always blow home in our bay."

The St. Patrick was a remarkably fine boat, of some nineteen or twenty tons burden, cutter rigged, and with a very comfortable forecastle, fitted with a brass stove, a present to old Mullaghan from Mr. De Burgh. It was now necessary to take in a couple of reefs, both wind and sea increasing rapidly. Still the hooker stood seaward, the crew keeping a keen look out, at least as far around them as they could, for the weather was exceedingly thick and foggy, though blowing hard.

"Did you set the Head, Master Frank?" observed one of the men, an old man-of-war's-man ; "it's getting so dirty; we shall have a job making it out."

" All right," returned Frank. u I think we may stand in again : it's impossible to make any vessel out a quarter of a mile distant. If any large vessel was near the coast, and tried her soundings, she would fire a gun for a pilot, so let us stand in, and come to under the Head."

" Faix ! if there's a vessel within a league of the land, she will be sucked into Tramore Bay. Do you remember last winter, the 'John Browne;' the captain abused us for offering our services, said we were a pack of sharks ! but, be Gor ! she left her ribs to bleach in the sun on Tramore Sands for all that."

As the hooker ran in for the Head it grew rapidly dark, having every appearance of a tremendous night; thick drizzling rain and sleet, and the gusts heavy and frequent, and occasionally shifting a point or so.

But the St. Patrick was run in safely, and rounding the Head, stood into water as smooth as a mill-pond, though the squalls roared over the Head and over them like thunder. Though completely sheltered where they lay, they were not more than a mile from the Helwick Sands, upon which the sea broke with a tremendous din. Having secured the hooker, and fastened everything that the storm was likely to make free with, Francis De Burgh and his four comrades entered the forecastle, and lighting their lamp, stirred up the fire in the stove, and taking out the cold provisions and the rum, made themselves as comfortable as possible, little heeding the roaring of the gale overhead, or the thunder of the surf under their lee.

We have said that one of the crew of the St. Patrick was an old man-of-war's man; he was a native of Dungarvon, by name Edward Maloney. Ned, as he was always styled, was a hale old fellow of sixty-four; thirty of the sixty-four years had been passed in a man-of-war, but getting a severe wound, he had retired on a pension, and returned to his native town ; but recovering tolerably well — limping a little it is true — though otherwise quite hearty, he took to fishing and piloting. Ned was a favourite, for he could spin no end of yarns, scenes of his past life. A glass of grog would set him off, till there was no stopping him.

Francis, being seated in the place of honour, served out the rum. He loved this wild life; it was a kind of excitement breaking in upon the solitary and sedentary life he at other times led.

" This is just the kind of night, Ned, for a good tough yarn," said Francis, who was very partial to Maloney's stories. " Let us have one now."

" Aigh, aigh, Master Francis," returned the old salt, smacking his lips after a stiff horn of grog ; " I'll spin you a yarn about a Friday, as this is a Friday, and we old sailors still stick to it, that it's better to remain at anchor on a Friday than make sail. Let you say what you will, Mister Francis, though for the matter of that every man has a right to please himself, as far as thinking goes. Our good priest, though, pitches it into us rather roughly at times, as well as your honour, and says God made all the days of the week, and therefore Friday is as good a day as any other. I don't say nothing whatsumdever against that, but howsumdever I can't help saying Friday's Friday."

u That is quite true, Ned," returned our hero ; " but freshen your nip, as you say, and let us hear what happened to you on a Friday."

" Thunder and turf, Mister Francis ! plenty of things happened to me on a Friday. I chalked 'em all down. First, I was pressed on a Friday, and just as I was going to get spliced to as neat and tidy a craft as ever went in stays, or put one leg before the other. On a Friday I was hit in the hip ; and, be the powers, I was discharged from the sarvice on a Friday; and when I got back to ould Dungarvon, I axed after my little Judy. Be Gor ! she was spliced to Jem Collins, the carpenter, and was the mother of nine children. "Well, 1 had the curosity to go see on what day she was spliced, and, be the powers, it was on a Friday !"

"Bejabers, Ned! that was a lucky Friday for you," said Bill Mullaghan, laughing, " for poor Jem Collins swears he daren't call his life his own. Tour little Judy bates him to shavings with his own chips."

" Sarve him right," returned old Ned, laughing ; " he shouldn't have got spliced on a Friday."

" Well, at all events, Ned," said Bill, " you escaped being the father of nine children."

" Be G-orra, there's something in that," muttered Ned; "but here goes with my yarn; a tough one it is, but you must know it's a true one, tough as it is."

But Ned was not destined to spin his yarn that night, at all events, as our readers will discover in our next chapter.

VOL. I.

Chapter III

Ned Maloney, after taking another stiff horn of grog, had made sundry preparations for commencing his story, and his auditors (notwithstanding the roaring of the gusts as they swept down the cliffs, and whirled oyer the little hooker, making her reel under their power) settled themselves comfortably to hear him, when the loud boom of a heavy gun from seaward caused all assembled in the cuddy to spring to their feet with an exclamation of " A ship's gun, and close in shore by the sound !" As they stood for an instant irresolute, a second and even louder report followed, and then every one, without a word, hurried upon deck.

Our hero, as he gained the fore deck of the hooker, gazed eagerly seaward. The night was not perhaps quite so dark as it had been; but the wind blew tremendously, and right into Dungarvon Bay. It was, however, too dark to enable him to see far to seaward, and the Head blocked the view; so turning to the men, he said:

"Well, my lads, what do you say? Shall we up anchor and stand out clear of the Head? No doubt there is some large craft too close in with the land. We may be able to save life."

"Aigh, aigh, sir," cheerfully exclaimed the men, " we are always ready to risk ours."

And away flew the hardy crew to close reef their mainsail, run in their short bowsprit, and make the hooker as snug as possible to encounter such a gale as was then blowing. It requires but a spark to kindle a flame. In fifteen minutes, the anchor was up, and the St. Patrick standing out into the storm-tossed sea, with young De Burgh at the helm, feeling as confident in her powers of endurance as the captain

c 2 of a three-decker would, walking the quarter-deck of his magnificent ship.

It certainly required stout hearts to stand out from the shelter of the Head on such a night, and in so small a craft as the little hooker. Without the Head, the sea was in a sheet of foam, as the wild gusts tore the tops from the seas, and hurled them, as if in mockery, over the deck of the St. Patrick, drenching her hardy crew to the skin. Just as they cleared the Head, which required great skill and nerve, for the breaking seas rolled in extremely heavy as they felt the land, a bright flash was seen seaward. Then came the loud boom of the gun over the troubled sea.

" Keep her away ! keep her away, Master Francis !" exclaimed Bill. " Hard a-starboard ! I can make her out."

As Bill spoke, a brilliant blue flame burst into a volume, and then they beheld, not a mile from them, a very large ship, with her fore-mast gone, but still carrying canvas on her main and mizen, and evidently making vain efforts to keep off shore. Young De Burgh gazed anxiously at the ship, and ran over in his active mind her small chance of safety in the perilous position she was placed in. In half»an-hour she would be on the Helwick reefs, for weather them without her fore-mast she could not.

" Be the immortals, Mister Frank," said Bill, " she'll be in splinters on the reef if we don't get close to her, and then what can she do, without head sail?"

"Burn a pitch torch, Bill," said Francis, altering the course of the hooker so as to pass close under her stern.

The pitch torch threw a wild, bright glare over the foaming waters, into which the boat plunged at times fearfully, trembling from stem to stern as she rose upon the following sea, and casting the spray over her like a snow drift. The crew felt the utmost confidence in their young helmsman. With him it was a passion; his heart beat, not for himself or his companions, for on that subject he bestowed not a thought; but the noble, disabled ship before him — doubtless containing many human beings trembling at their fearful position — occupied and absorbed all his thoughts, as to how to rescue her from the terrible doom menacing her.