Paul Gerrard Part 25

"Ah, now I will rest quietly," he thought, as he laid himself down on a crevice of the ice filled with snow.

From that sleep he never awoke.

Among the women, one toiled on with a child in her arms. Many of the seamen offered to carry it; but she would not part with her treasure.

On and on she moved. Her words became wandering, then scarcely articulate. She ceased at length to speak. Still she advanced. The snow fell thicker. The road became more uneven. Each person had to exert himself to the utmost to preserve his own life. They thought not of the poor woman and her child till they discovered that she was not among them. But not only did the weak sink down. Strong men in the same way disappeared from among their comrades. No one at the time exactly knew how. No one saw them fall. They were by the side of those who still walked on alive one moment, and the next they were gone.

Paul kept near Devereux. They conversed together as much as they could, and often addressed words of encouragement to the men, who, though often sinking, it appeared, with fatigue and cold, were revived, it seemed, and proceeded with as much spirit as at first.

Paul himself at length began to grow very weary, and to long to lie down and rest.

"If I could stop back for three minutes, I could easily run on and catch them up," he thought to himself; yet he did not like to make the proposal to Devereux, who, he still had sense enough to believe, would not agree to it.

Poor Paul, was this to be the termination of all your aspirations for naval glory, to sink down and die on a frozen sand-bank, within a few miles of a spot where you may obtain food, shelter, and warmth?

"I can stand it no longer, I must rest," he said to himself. "There is a snug spot between two slabs of ice, quite an arm-chair. I must sit in it, if only for two minutes."

Devereux must have divined his thoughts, or probably observed the irregular and faltering steps he was making, for, seizing him by the arm, he exclaimed, with judicious roughness--

"Come, rouse up, Paul, my dear fellow! We must have none of this folly.

I did not expect it from you."

The words had their due effect. By a powerful effort Paul threw off his lethargy, and once more sprang on with the rest, continuing to talk and encourage his companions.

Still no one could tell whether or not they should ever reach their destination. The snow fell thicker than ever, and not a windmill, a spire, or a willow, or any of the objects which adorn the sh.o.r.es of the Elbe, could be seen to indicate that they were approaching the haunts of men. It was too evident that many of their number had pa.s.sed from among them since they began their march, and no one could say who might follow. Many were complaining bitterly of the cold, and others had ceased to complain, as if no longer conscious of the effect it was producing.

Suddenly there was a shout from those in advance. The rear ranks hurried on. A house was seen, then another, and another. They were in the middle of a village. Kind people came out of their houses to inquire what had occurred; and at once there was no lack of hearty invitations, and the whole party were soon enjoying warmth, hot drinks, and dry clothing, which soon revived the greater number, though some who had been frost-bitten required considerable attention before they were set to rights.

The next day the storm raged as furiously as before, and so it continued for nearly a week, and all had reason to be thankful that they had reached a place of safety. At length, the weather moderating, and provisions on the island growing very scarce, the amba.s.sador and his suite, and half of the s.h.i.+p's company, proceeded on, though not without great difficulty and hazard, to Cuxhaven, while the rest remained on the island, in the hope of saving some of the s.h.i.+p's stores.

Among the latter were Devereux, Paul, and O'Grady, with Reuben Cole.

The next day they, with a party of men, volunteered to visit the wreck, to report on her condition, and to bring back some bread, of which they stood greatly in need. They succeeded in getting on board, and found the s.h.i.+p in even a worse condition than they had expected. She was on her beam ends, with upwards of seven feet of water in her, apparently broken asunder, the quarter-deck separated six feet from the gangway, and only kept together by the ice frozen round her. Their task accomplished, with a few articles of value and a supply of bread, they returned to the sh.o.r.e.

Considering that the risk was very great, the captain decided that no further visits should be paid to the s.h.i.+p.

However, one morning, the weather becoming very fine, it being understood that the captain had not actually prohibited a visit to the s.h.i.+p, Devereux, Paul, and O'Grady, with Cole and another man, set off to pay, as they said, the old barkie a farewell visit. The captain, who was ill in bed, only heard of their departure too late to recall them.

The frost was so severe that the ice was well frozen, and thus they must have got on board; but it was supposed that they had remained on board till the tide changing made their return impossible. They were looked-for anxiously during the evening, but no tidings came of them.

At night the wind again got up, and their s.h.i.+pmates, as they sat by the fires of their hospitable host, trembled for their safety. As soon as daylight returned the greater number were on foot. Not a vestige of her could be seen. The tide and wind rising together must have carried down the ma.s.ses of ice with terrific force, and completely swept her decks.

When Captain Order heard of this, his feelings gave way. "To have lost my s.h.i.+p was bad enough," he exclaimed; "but to lose so many fine young fellows on a useless expedition is more than I can bear. It will be the cause of my death."

The few officers who remained with the captain could offer no consolation. The pilots and other people belonging to the place were consulted. They declared that from the condition of the s.h.i.+p when last visited, it was impossible that she could withstand the numerous ma.s.ses of ice which during the past night must have, with terrific violence, been driven against her, that she had probably been cut down by degrees to the water's edge, and that thus the ice must have swept over her.

They said that if even those on board had been able to launch a boat, no boat could have lived amid the floating ice; and that even, had she escaped from the ice, she must have foundered in the chopping sea running at the mouth of the river. Probably, when the weather moderated in the spring, portions of the wreck would be found thrown up on the sh.o.r.e, and that was all that would ever be known of her fate. The captain, after waiting some days, and nothing being heard of the frigate or the lost officers and men, being sufficiently recovered, proceeded with the remainder of the crew to Cuxhaven.

Devereux, Paul and O'Grady were general favourites, and their loss caused great sorrow among their surviving s.h.i.+pmates; but sailors, especially in those busy, stirring days, had little time for mourning for those who had gone where they knew that they themselves might soon be called on to follow. Some honest tears were shed to their memory, and the captain with a heavy heart wrote his despatches, giving an account of the loss of his s.h.i.+p, and of the subsequent misfortune by which the service had been deprived of so many gallant and promising young officers. The amba.s.sador and his suite had for some time before taken their departure, as the French were known to be advancing eastward, and might have, had they delayed, intercepted them. For the same reason Captain Order and his officers and crew anxiously looked forward to the arrival of a s.h.i.+p of war to take them away, as they did not fancy finis.h.i.+ng off their adventures by being made prisoners and marched off to Verdun, or some other unpleasant place, where the French at that time shut up their captives. At length a sloop of war arrived, and they reached England in safety. Captain Order and his officers had to undergo a court-martial for the loss of the frigate, when they were not only honourably acquitted, but were complimented on the admirable discipline which had been maintained, and were at once turned over to another frigate, the _Dido_, lately launched, and fitting with all possible dispatch for sea.

But there were sad hearts and weeping eyes in one humble home, where the loss of two deeply loved ones was mourned; and even in the paternal hall of O'Grady, and in the pretentious mansion of Devereux, sorrow was expressed, and some tears were shed for those who had thus early been cut off in their career of glory. We will not attempt to pry into the grief which existed in Gerrard's home. It did not show itself by loud cries and lamentations, but it was very evident that from one heart there all joyousness had for ever flown. Still Mary bore up wonderfully. All her attention seemed to be occupied in attending to her mother, who, already delicate, felt Paul's loss dreadfully. Her young brothers and sisters, too, required her care. As usual, she taught them their lessons, made and mended their clothes, helped to cook their dinners, and attended them at their meals. None of these things did she for a day leave undone, and even Sarah and John, whispering together, agreed that Mary could not have cared so very much for Gilbert, and still less for poor Paul.

Some weeks pa.s.sed on, when one day, when Mary was out marketing, Mrs Gerrard received a letter curiously marked over--not very clean, and with a high postage. Fortunately she had just enough to pay for it.

She read it more than once. "Poor, dear, sweet, good Mary!" she exclaimed; "I almost fear to tell her; the revulsion may be too great.

I know how much she has suffered, though others don't."

A writer has a great advantage in being able to s.h.i.+ft the scene, and to go backwards or forwards in time as he may find necessary. We must go back to that fine, bright, but bitterly cold morning when Lieutenant Devereux and his companions set off to visit the frigate. They were strong and hardy, had thick coats, and, besides, the exercise kept them warm. The way was difficult, often through deep snow, into which they sank up to their middles. They looked in vain for trace of any of their lost s.h.i.+pmates. They were already entombed beneath the glittering snow, not to be again seen till the warm sun of the spring should expose them to the gaze of pa.s.sers by. They at length reached the s.h.i.+p, and climbed up through a main-deck port. How silent and melancholy seemed the deserted s.h.i.+p, lately crowded with active busy human beings never more again destined to people its decks.

They looked into the cabins and selected a few articles they had before forgotten, taking some articles from the cabins of their messmates which they thought might be valued. On the main-deck the injuries which the s.h.i.+p had received were not so apparent.

"Would it be possible to save her?" exclaimed Devereux. "If she could be buoyed up with empty casks and got off into deep water, we might patch her up sufficiently to run her over to Yarmouth Roads. I would rather see her bones left there than here."

"Anything you like I am ready for," said O'Grady, and Paul repeated the sentiment.

"I do not mean to say that we can do it by ourselves; but if we can form a good plan to place before the captain, perhaps he will let us have the rest of the people to carry it out," said Devereux. "However, before we begin, let us have some food. I am very hungry after our walk, and I daresay you all are."

All hands agreed to this; there was no lack of provisions. Some time was occupied in the meal, and then they set to work to make their survey. As they wished to be exact, and to ascertain the number of casks on which they could depend for floating the s.h.i.+p, the business occupied a longer time than they had expected. They had nearly completed their plans when Paul, looking through one of the ports, saw the water rus.h.i.+ng by with great rapidity, carrying with it large blocks of ice capable of overwhelming anybody they might have struck. The tide had turned, it was too evident, some time, and their retreat to the sh.o.r.e was cut off. Paul reported the circ.u.mstance to Devereux. There was no doubt about the matter. They stood at the gangway gazing at the roaring torrent, full of ma.s.ses of ice leaping over and grinding against each other. No one but a madman would have ventured to cross it. It seemed doubtful if even a boat could live in such a turmoil of waters.

If the flood ran up thus strong, what might be the effects of the ebb?

It would not be low water again till past midnight, and it would then be very dangerous, if not altogether impracticable, to get on sh.o.r.e. They must, therefore, make up their minds to remain on board till the following day.

"The old s.h.i.+p is not going to tumble to pieces just yet," said Devereux.

"We might have had worse quarters than she can still afford, so we shall have to turn into our berths and wait till the sun rises again."

Whether the young lieutenant felt as confident as he expressed himself might have been doubted; but he was one of those wise people who always make the best of everything, carrying out practically the proverb "What cannot be cured must be endured." As they had plenty to do, and were able to light a fire in the cabin stove and another in the galley to cook their supper, they pa.s.sed their time not unpleasantly. Their habits of naval discipline would not allow them to dispense with a watch, so, while the rest turned in, one officer and one man at a time walked the deck, though, as O'Grady remarked, "We are not likely to run foul of anything, seeing that we are hard and fast aground, and nothing will purposely run foul of us; and if anything does, it may, for we can't get out of its way." Devereux took the dog watch, O'Grady was to take the first, and Paul the middle. Paul was not sorry to turn in, for he was very tired. He had not slept, as he thought, when he felt O'Grady's hand on his shoulder, telling him that it was time to turn out.

He was on deck in a minute, where he found O'Grady, who was waiting his coming. Just as O'Grady was going down, a loud, grating, crus.h.i.+ng noise a.s.sailed their ears. It was blowing very strong, and freezing extremely hard. The night also was very dark, and occasionally heavy falls of snow came on, making the obscurity greater. The rus.h.i.+ng noise increased. The tide they knew must have turned, and was now coming down with terrific force.

"I say, Gerrard, I doubt if Devereux's plan will succeed, if the ice continues to come down in this fas.h.i.+on; more likely to cut the old barkie to pieces," observed O'Grady.

"I am afraid so," said Paul; "I'll ask Cole what he thinks of the state of affairs."

Reuben was found, and confessed that he did not like them. The wind had increased to a fearful gale, which howled and whistled through the shrouds, and between the intervals of these gusts the roar of the distant ocean could be heard, as the seas met together, or dashed in heavy rollers on the coast.

While the mids.h.i.+pmen and Reuben were talking, they became conscious that the s.h.i.+p was moving; her deck rose and fell very slowly certainly, but they felt the sensation of which perhaps only seamen could have been aware that they were standing on a floating body. They instantly called Devereux, and he was convinced of the awful fact that the frigate was moving. In her present condition she could not float long, and though they might lower a boat, it was impossible that a boat could live among the ma.s.ses of ice rus.h.i.+ng by. Perhaps the frigate might ground again.

They sounded the well; she had not made much water since they came on board, so she might float for some time longer. Perhaps she was still in shallow water, and just gliding over the bottom. A lead was found and hove for soundings; but instead of striking the water, it came upon hard ice. The mystery was explained. The whole floe in which the s.h.i.+p was embedded was floating away. There could be little doubt about that.

But where was it driving to? That was the question. It might drive out to sea, and becoming broken by the force of the waves, allow the s.h.i.+p to sink between its fragments. Still even then they might possibly be able to escape in a boat. One was therefore cleared and got ready for landing, and a supply of provisions, a compa.s.s, and water, were placed in her, with some spare cloaks and blankets to afford them a slight s.h.i.+eld and protection from the inclemency of the weather. After this they could do no more than pray that warning might be given them of the s.h.i.+p's sinking, and wait patiently for day.

The cold was so intense that they would have been almost frozen to death had they not been able to keep up a fire in the cabin stove, round which officers and men now cl.u.s.tered. It might possibly be their last meeting on this side a watery grave, and yet they had all, young and old, been so accustomed to face death, that they did not allow the antic.i.p.ation of it altogether to quench their spirits. They talked of the past and even of the future, although fully aware that that future on earth might not be for them.

Day came at last, cold and grey. They looked out; they were, as they had conjectured, surrounded by a solid floe of ice--so thick that there seemed little danger of its immediately breaking up. Beyond it was the leaden sea foaming and hissing--but, in spite of the gale, not breaking heavily, owing to the floes of ice floating about and the direction of the wind; while in the distance to the south, and on either hand, was a low line of coast, with islands here and there scattered now and then.

The prospect was uninviting. The s.h.i.+p was driving out to sea, and could not then long hold together. O'Grady proposed making an attempt to gain the sh.o.r.e in the boat; but Devereux pointed out the difficulty there would be in making headway against the furious gale then blowing, in addition to the risk of having the boat stove in by the ice.

"No, no; let us stick to the s.h.i.+p as long as she keeps above water," he added.

Of course all agreed that his decision was right. They were not idle, however. Paul suggested that if a boat could not live, a strong raft might; and as soon as breakfast was over, they set to work to build one.

As they had plenty of time and materials, they made it big enough and strong enough to carry fifty men, and in the centre built a store-house to hold provisions for several days. Fortunately the ice did not move very fast; and before they had drifted far off the coast, the wind s.h.i.+fted, and drove them along it at the same rate as before. Still it continued freezing hard. A rapid thaw they had most to fear, as it would melt away the supporting floe, and let the s.h.i.+p sink. But then they might take to their boat. Had it not been for the anxiety they felt as to what might happen, they had no great cause to complain, as they had shelter and firing, and were amply supplied with provisions, besides, as O'Grady observed, enjoying the advantage, when the raft was finished, of having nothing to do. The third night they had spent on board came to a close. They kept a very strict watch, that should any change occur, they might not be taken unawares. On looking out they found the land much nearer than before. This was accounted for, as the wind had s.h.i.+fted, and now blew almost directly on sh.o.r.e.

"Our voyage will come to an end sooner than we expected last night,"

observed O'Grady. "For my part I am almost sorry; it's very good fun."

"It will be no laughing matter, if the wind increases, and a heavy surf breaks on the sh.o.r.e," said Devereux, who overheard the remark.

The s.h.i.+p, still surrounded by its ma.s.s of ice, to which it acted as a sail, drifted slowly, but steadily, towards the sh.o.r.e. The rate of progress was increased, however, before long by the rising wind, and the deck of the s.h.i.+p, hitherto only gently undulating, began to be tossed about with a motion more rapid than pleasant. As they drove on, the land opened out, and appeared on either hand; so that they found that they were at the entrance of an estuary, or the mouth of a wide river.