“The winds came rustling from their hills.”
In the gunroom, meantime, some of the officers were eating their breakfast with as much composure as if there was nothing the matter. Others there were, it must be confessed, who sipped their coffee slowly and gloomily enough; while others again, with a strange mixture of caution and carelessness, were packing up their valuables, and calling aloud the while to the steward, to keep their breakfast hot. A cold one would scarcely have been remembered on such an occasion, by a landsman.
One of the most affecting features of the hour was presented by the helpless prisoners at the hatchways, who, in profound silence, manifested[286] their anxious feeling, by crowding to the bars which fastened them down, to gain, if possible, some intelligence of what was going on; while, at every roll of the ship, they expected to go to the bottom. On the coast, on the Tantallon side, the friendly Scots had collected to the number of thousands; bringing down boats, rafts, ropes, &c. to the part of the beach on which it was generally expected the ship must be wrecked.
On the quarter-deck Fitz-Ullin walked alone, occasionally going forward to look at the cable, which, being strained to the utmost, was every moment in danger of parting; an accident which, should it occur, must be followed by instant destruction.
From the cable he raised his eyes from time to time to the vane, and withdrew them again in bitter disappointment, for the wind was still right ahead.
All things remained in this state of fearful[287] suspense, till nearly twelve at noon; when our hero, whose eyes were, at the moment, anxiously raised to the vane, saw it veer round one point in his favour. Even this slight advantage was not to be neglected for a moment: it warranted an attempt to quit a situation of so much peril.
A spring was instantly placed on the cable, which brought the ship’s broadside more to the wind; the three topsails, double reefed, were set, and the carpenter, having been previously placed ready with an uplifted axe, a single blow (such was now the tension) parted the cable, and the courses being at the same moment added, the vessel, which had been straining for way, flew through the water almost on her beam ends. While she thus rushed towards the dangerous barrier, perfect silence was observed by every one. It was generally apprehended that she must split her canvas, or carry away her masts; yet it was necessary to[288] put her under this heavy press of sail, to overbalance, if possible, the great lee-way she had, and so get her clear of the rocks. She now approached them with incredible velocity, passed them at but a few yards distance, and, shipping two or three heavy seas, weathered the reef in safety. A general shout of joy burst at the moment from the hitherto breathless crowd on the deck, and was as instantly answered by an echoing shout from the prisoners throughout the hold.
Some minutes, at least, must elapse, ere Fitz-Ullin could be justified in leaving the deck; he dispatched Arthur therefore to his aunt and Julia, with the joyful tidings, and, as soon as possible, followed him.
On entering the cabin, where both ladies now were, our hero’s countenance was covered with the glow of successful exertion. It was animated, it was even joyful! He pressed Lady Oswald’s eagerly offered hands in silence,[289] and passed to Julia. He raised one of hers and paused, as if to take breath, which he had not yet given himself time to do.
He looked in silence at her changing colour and downcast eyes, and during the moments so employed, his own expression became entirely altered. Speaking with effort, and, for the occasion, with unnatural coldness, he said, “Arthur has of course informed you that the danger is over: it is only left for me, therefore, to apologize for the rashness of which I was guilty, in giving you unnecessary alarm. And,” he added, in a lowered and somewhat faltering tone, at the same time glancing at Lady Oswald, and seeing that she was engaged by her son, “and for the expression of—in short, feelings which—which had been better unexpressed! The certainty, almost, of approaching death to both, and the brotherly affection I have from childhood been permitted to cherish, are all I can plead in my excuse.” Without[290] waiting for reply, he turned to Lady Oswald, and again hastily taking her hand, murmured something about his duties on deck, and left the cabin. Arthur followed him; and Lady Oswald’s spirits being quite exhausted, she retired to the inner cabin to lie down.
Julia was left alone. The terror and the joy also seemed over. It was all like a dream: she felt bewildered; she was unhappy too! more unhappy than she had been when each moment she expected the ship would go to pieces! She could not conceal this feeling from herself, nor that it had its source in the unaccountable alternations of Fitz-Ullin’s manner. Yet she was indignant at her own weakness! She sat for a long time motionless: a blush at length appeared on her cheek, for now fancy was pourtraying, and memory acknowledging, the scene which had taken place during the moment of extreme danger! How had she permitted, passively permitted, conduct so unwarrantable—so incredible!