Book: St. Nicholas Magazine for Boys and Girls, Vol. 5, May, 1878, No. 7.

V >> Various >> St. Nicholas Magazine for Boys and Girls, Vol. 5, May, 1878, No. 7.




If there was one part of the trip which gave them greater pleasure than
the rest, it was their visit to the Shetland Isles.

There was an indescribable pleasure to our young folks in wandering
under cliffs gaunt and bare, and hearing the stories of Vikings, who
fought and fell,--or fought and conquered in these isles.

Sometimes in their wanderings they would come upon a "fairy-ring," and
as they listened to the strange stories told by the islanders, they
seemed to be really in some bewitched and spell-bound place. Or,
perhaps a "kern," standing solitary upon some hill-top, would call
forth a whole series of Danish and Norwegian legends, which would give
them food for reflection for days.

Many a pleasant adventure they had as they rode together on their
sure-footed little "shelties," or climbed the crags and rocks to look
down upon the isles, "like so many stars reflected from the sky." And
many a pleasant talk they had with the hospitable inhabitants, who
rehearsed to them some of the dangers which assail the dwellers in
those solitary little islands. The narrow belts of sea, which divide
their ocean-girded homes, have constantly to be ferried across, and
many a boat which has gone out manned with a gallant crew has never
returned or sent a waif to tell its story.

It was partly to acquire a knowledge of the Shetland character, and to
see some phases of its home-life, that our friends, when they came at
last to one little village by the sea, where they had only intended to
make a flying visit, determined to halt there for a few days. It was a
charming spot; on the one side of the village there were to be seen
some of the finest specimens of the savage grandeur of cliff and crag,
and on the other the smiling, genial face of cultivation and quiet
beauty.

On the morning our friends arrived at the village they found three
fishermen at work beside their cottage door, on the margin of the sea.
They were brothers--Ole, Maurice, and Eric Hughson; all young men,
handsome, strong and intelligent. Howard and Martin made friends with
them at once, and as the morning was calm and bright, entered into
arrangements with them for their best boat to be launched, so that our
friends might have a long sail, to visit some of the caverns abounding
on the coast, and to see the homes of the wild sea-birds, and the
haunts of the fowlers.

When the hamper of provisions was safely on board, and the party for
the picnic had followed it, of course the sea air and the fine scenery
set every tongue loose, so that the solitary places rang again with the
merry laughter and the voice of song. And then, when the first
irrepressible pleasure had spent itself a little, the young folks
gathered round the three brothers, and listened with attentive interest
to the yarns they were spinning to Mr. Morton about some of the places
they were passing; for every spot in the Shetlands has its own story.

Madeleine noticed that beneath the mirth and apparent gayety of the
men, there seemed to be an under-current of deep feeling, probably born
of sorrow, and she determined, if possible, to find her way to the
hearts of the fine manly fellows, in whom she began to be interested.

It was not long before an opportunity occurred. The boat was steered
round a huge bluff, and before our friends were aware where they were
going, they found themselves in a vast cavern. There was something
awful in the half-darkness into which they passed, and the dreary
stillness, only broken by the splashing of the water against the sides
of the cave, enhanced the feeling. As the boat rested in the midst of
the cavern, they looked up, and saw as it were, stars shining through
the massive roof; they looked around, and the huge rocks seemed like
burnished metal. It was a curious sight, and the sounds were equally
curious for every word they spoke came back again to the speaker, with
a ghostly hollowness.

Madeleine, with Howard and Martin, sang a song together, which sounded
splendidly within this vaulted cave, with all its wild re-echoings.
When it ended, the boat glided slowly out of the cavern, and although
they had enjoyed the somber magnificence they had left, they were all
glad to be in the fresh air and cheerful sunshine again.

Madeleine watched her opportunity, and when she saw Eric alone in the
fore part of the boat, she quietly disengaged herself from the rest of
the party, and, sitting down beside him, said: "Eric, I believe you
have seen some great sorrow, though you are so young."

"I was only twenty-two last birthday, Miss, but I have had sorrow
enough."

"Would it pain you to tell me your story?" she said.

"No, Miss, it may do me good to tell it. It is a short and sad one. Two
years ago my two brothers, Robbie and Gideon, both younger than I am,
went away from here on a whaling expedition. There was a fine crew of
fifty, half of them Shetlanders and the rest English. There were one or
two gentlemen's sons amongst the crew, and as nice a set of fellows
altogether as a seaman could wish. They set sail in good spirits, and
it was from the headland yonder that we heard their cheers, as they
sailed out on their whaling expedition. From that day to this no word
has come of them, and we fear that all are lost. It has been a heavy
blow to us. When they went away it seemed as if the light had gone out
of the old home, for they were young and merry and clever. The long
waiting to hear from them has been as bad as the fear that they have
perished."

"God comfort you, Eric," said Madeleine, tenderly, as she wiped away
her tears. "God comfort you. No words of mine can help to heal this
wound."

"Thank you, Miss," said Eric. "I see you feel for us, and that
helps--better than words, sometimes."



CHAPTER X.

IN THE STORM.


The next morning, as Howard and Martin were coming up from the beach,
where they had been taking a swim, they saw Maurice and Eric standing
on the edge of a cliff looking out seaward, and they had not walked far
before Eric came hastily toward them.

"You've never seen a Shetland storm, young gentlemen," he said, "but
you may see one to-day and to-morrow, too, for I doubt if you will get
away from here as soon as you expected. I see the ladies coming out; it
might be well to go and tell them."

"Come along, Madeleine! Hurry, Ethel!" cried Martin; "you will soon see
the sight we have longed for--a storm at sea. Eric says there is one
brewing."

The ladies looked incredulous, and Mr. Morton put on his double
eye-glasses, and looked around with the air of one who more than half
suspects he is being taken in.

It was a still, lovely summer morning. The sea was as calm as a village
brook; the waves lazily played upon the shore, and the breeze scarcely
stirred the little flag which Eric had mounted on his boat in honor of
the visitors.

Presently, however, the dark clouds came up in rapid procession; the
surf began to sigh and moan; the sea-fowls caught the sound, and cried
as they only cry when the ocean is angry. The boats lying out hoisted
sail and scudded away for the nearest haven of shelter. Then a white
line of light rose up sharply against the black bank of clouds, and the
still sea became covered with white-crested waves. The quiet shore rang
again with the booming of waters, as they leapt against the rocks and
broke in foaming spray.

It was a grand sight. The whole aspect of sea and sky and land had
changed.

Ole, Maurice and Eric had withdrawn from the party of visitors and were
standing on an eminence, talking earnestly, and looking out to sea with
such evident anxiety, that Howard and Martin clambered up to them to
hear what was the matter.

"Well, sir, you see that ship out there, we can't make her out," said
Maurice. "We've watched her for an hour, and she hasn't shifted an inch
of sail."

"I don't see her at all," said Howard. "Do you, Martin?"

No, Martin could not, because he had not that wonderfully acute sight
which the discipline of constant experience gives to seamen.

However, with the aid of a glass he saw her clearly, and was seaman
enough to know that she was playing a dangerous game in carrying so
much canvas in such a gale.

"And what's the strangest part of all is, that she's making straight
for rocks, if she keeps the same course," said Ole.

"Can't you make out who or what she is?" asked Howard.

"I should say by her build she was a whaler," answered Maurice, taking
up the glass again and having a long look. Then he hastily passed it to
Ole and Ole to Eric.

"There's no time to be lost," said Ole, "the storm will be too heavy in
another hour for us to put off. She's in danger, there's no mistake,
and we must get to her. It seems to me there can't be any crew on
board, or if there is, they must be mad. It's the strangest thing I
ever saw."

In a few moments all was excitement; the news spread through the
village like wild-fire; every cottage was astir; old and young came out
to see and hear and speculate; while half a dozen stalwart fellows,
including the three brothers, made ready for the start. Howard and
Martin were among the first to volunteer to accompany them, but the
fishermen would not hear of it. There was no time to discuss the
matter; all was hurry and bustle.

See! the crew is ready; all hands are wanted for the launch. It is no
easy matter; the waves are beating in on the shore, and threaten to
swamp the boat almost before she starts on her perilous errand. Hurrah!
she rides! Ole is at the helm; a manly cheer comes to the now silent
watchers on the shore, and the little craft plunges through the waters,
now rising on a crested wave, now sinking into the valley of waters,
but speeding her devious way toward the mysterious ship.

Madeleine clings to the arm of Howard, pale with the excitement. Ethel
has hardly dared to speak, and Martin has not found it in his heart to
break the intense silence of those anxious moments as they watch the
departure.

But see! a group has gathered on the spot where Ole, Maurice and Eric
had stood. It is the favorite lookout. The glass is there, and an old
man has taken it in his steady hand, and is reporting the news by
little jerks of speech to the anxious throng around him. It is Ole
Hughson, the father of the three brothers.

"Can make out one man on board. He sees them. They've tacked again. It
aint so bad as it looked. Sea's quieter there. Hulloa! there goes a
sail to ribbons. They are tacking again. She has slackened sail. Good!
good!"

But other eyes can now make out the scene, for the ship draws nearer,
and the eyes that have gazed so long seem to have gained strength to
see further.

The Shetland boat nears the ship; it is near enough for the crew to
catch the cry that comes from the solitary man upon the deck.

See! the little boat tacks again, and is now close in the wake of the
ship. Good heavens! in that sea, with those waves running, will they
dare to attempt to board her?

Yes, a rope has been thrown to them. Thank God, it is caught! But the
little boat has sunk! No, she has but gone down in the great valley of
waters, and is riding safe and sound. Look! some one from the Shetland
boat has caught hold of the rudder-chains. He climbs the dangerous way.
He is on board. It is Eric--the brave, dauntless Eric. Another and
another follow, and all reach the ship in safety.

No sooner had the brave Shetlanders mounted the deck than they were at
work with a desperate will. A glance sufficed to show them that the
management of the vessel depended upon them; and in a moment they were
masters of the situation. Ole established himself at the wheel, and
thundered forth his orders.

As if by magic, the course of the vessel was altered; dangling spars
were cut away and thrown adrift, sail was taken in, and our friends on
the shore could see that they were endeavoring to bring the ship to
haven in the bay.

No time was to be lost with those who would witness the arrival and
disembarkation; for, although it would have been a comparatively short
distance if there had been a sea-coast and a calm sea, the haven was
cut off from the village by rugged rocks and headlands, which
necessitated a journey of some miles.

Howard and Martin, as soon as they saw that the ship was in the hands
of the fishermen, rushed off at the top of their speed to get ready the
first shelties they could lay their hands on, knowing, that in such a
time of excitement, everybody in the place being related, directly or
indirectly, to the six men who were on board, it was vain to put much
trust in the help of others.

That morning marked an epoch in the life of Mrs. Morton. She had always
been too languid to encounter any excitement of any sort, but she had
watched the events of this day with an interest which was as new to
herself as it was to all who knew her. And when the young folks
declared that they must see the end of the matter, come what might,
nothing could dissuade her, despite the fatigue, from making one of the
party.

There was a tedious delay in getting the ponies together and saddling
them for the journey. Those who had gone off on foot, and were
accustomed to fatigues, had gained a long march on the visitors, and
Howard had agreed with Martin that it would save time in the end if
they only took four ponies, for the ladies and Mr. Morton, and went
themselves on foot.

At last all was ready, and the start was made with the best speed
possible in the circumstances. But they labored under one or two great
disadvantages; the first was that they did not know the quickest route,
and the next was that they could not see the vessel, having to make an
inland journey to reach the haven.

When at last they came to the edge of a cliff, which they rightly
judged must overlook their destination, a scene broke upon their view
which staggered them.

The ship was at anchor; many people were upon the shore, and in little
knots they were kneeling round the bodies of men stretched upon the
strand, while boats were passing to and fro, freighted, as it would
seem, with the dying and the dead.

"This is no scene for you, my dears," said Mr. Morton, as he saw the
pallor on the faces of those around him, "we must return at once."

"Return?" cried Madeleine, "when perhaps the dead can be ministered
to, and the dying cheered. Oh! no, no!"

It was useless to resist such an appeal, nor was it necessary, for, as
she spoke, a woman, running, drew near to them.

"Tell me, what does it mean?" cried Howard to her.

"Near twenty men on board, dead and dying. The ship is half full of
water, and is sinking."

They urged their way along, passing groups in attendance on the
prostrate ones upon the shore. Howard and Martin led; the others
followed. The whole party gathered about a boat that had just come in,
and from which Eric was trying to lift the apparently lifeless body of
a young man.

All at once, Mrs. Morton threw up her arms, uttered a piercing cry, and
fell forward to the ground. Then, in quick succession, horror, surprise
and joy filled the hearts of the little group, as they, too, recognized
in Eric's burden the form and features of Digby Morton!

[IN THE ICE. [SEE PAGE 499.]]



CHAPTER XL.

A STRANGE STORY.


The wind is hushed now. The sea beats no longer with rude shocks
against the echoing cliffs. The sea-birds have gone to their nests, and
the moon, bright and beautiful, is flooding ocean and land with its
calm, clear light.

Howard and Martin walk together along the grassy way between their
cottage and the sea.

They look anxiously, from time to time, along the road, for they are
expecting the arrival of the doctor, and they make a start together as
they see a form in the distance. But it is not the doctor; it is Eric.

"Well, Eric, what news? How are your patients to-night?"

"Going on well, thank God!" he answered. "Gideon is sitting up in bed,
and has been talking a bit, but not much, for the doctor says it would
be the worst thing he could do. And Robbie is picking up strength, but
it's slowly--slowly, poor Robbie!"

"We must hope and pray, and use the best means we can. God helps those
who help themselves," said Howard.

"But He helps those most who cannot help themselves, it seems to me,"
said Martin, "when I think of all that has happened during the past few
days."

"It really does seems so, sir," said Eric; "and to think that Mr.
Digby, that you all thought was dead and gone years ago, should have
sailed in that same ship along with my two brothers whom we had given
up as lost, and that all should come back again together, and their
ship drift into the very port they started from! I feel as if I
couldn't believe it; I'm sure I shouldn't if I read it in a book."

"It is strange, very strange; yet there are stranger things happening
around us every day, Eric, than any man could invent. But, tell me, has
Gideon yet spoken of Mr. Digby in his talk?"

"Bless you, sir, he's talked of nothing else! From what I can make out,
Mr. Digby has been the life and soul of the party, and that everybody
loved him you may guess from the fact that almost the first question of
every one that has come to, has been about him. But I beg pardon for
not asking before, sir; how is Mr. Digby, to-night?"

"Better, we hope. Certainly better than he was yesterday. He has not as
yet shown any gleam of consciousness, but he has been able to take
plenty of nourishment, and it is upon this that we ground a good hope.
But see, yonder comes the doctor, and I hope he will report favorably
of all." Never could a medical man have shown a greater interest in a
patient than Dr. Henderson did in Digby. He had heard portions of his
strange story from others of his patients who had been saved from the
ill-fated ship, and the loving solicitude of all had drawn from him an
answering tenderness.

"I shall stay with him to-night," said he, "if you will allow me, for I
anticipate a change in him soon, and I am extremely anxious that at
first he should receive enough information to satisfy him, and at the
same time that he should have no clue as to where he is or by whom he
is surrounded. After his intense excitement and the almost superhuman
fatigue he has undergone,--for it was he who was the last to give up,
and then not until the Hughsons were safe aboard the ship,--the least
shock might prove fatal. So, you go away and leave me with him. But
stay," added the doctor to Mr. Morton, who had now joined them; "just
now one of the men gave me this book--a Bible--which he found on the
ship; and as it bears the name of Howard Pemberton in the fly-leaf, I
brought it with me, and with especial interest, for, inclosed in the
cover, is a packet addressed to you, Mr. Morton."

Mr. Morton took the book with trembling hands, and when he had reached
his own room he sat alone and read with deep emotion the strange story
of his son's life. It ran as follows:

Baffin's Bay.

I know not into whose hands this paper will fall, but it is my
earnest, perhaps dying entreaty that it may be placed in the hands
of my parents, my sister, Dr. Brier, or Howard Pemberton, all of
whose addresses will be found elsewhere.

I write this letter to the man whose name I bear and whom I have
most deeply wronged.

Much sorrow, and anxiety, my dear father, must have resulted from
my cruel conduct, and I would confess, without a wish to conceal
one single fact, the sins which wrought such mischief and have
brought such strange punishments. I can only do so by telling the
story of how one sin led to another, until all culminated in that
fearful fraud, the pretense of death.

For the first year that I was at Blackrock school I strove with all
my strength to do and be what Dr. Brier and his kind, good wife
would wish. Their influence over me was kind and gentle and good. I
can never repay the debt of gratitude I owe them. But by degrees I
grew to hate the restraints of school, and I was drifting,
drifting, I knew not whither.

My best friends at school were Howard Pemberton and Martin
Venables. I loved them at the first with all the enthusiasm a boy
feels when he thinks he has found his ideal friends. They supplied
to me the lack of brothers; they were true, manly, high-minded
friends. But as soon as I began to drift away from the good I had
ceased to strive after, I loosened my hold on them.

It was about a year before I left Blackrock school when my aversion
to study and to all restraint became almost uncontrollable. During
my holidays I once fell in with a young man, James Williams, who
led a wild, reckless life. He had run away from home, had crossed
the seas, and had raised money in various ways, which enabled him
to indulge freely his wild fancies. His yarns about the sea, and
the adventures he had met and dangers encountered, fired me with a
mania to follow a similar career. The constant reading by stealth
of pernicious books, of which smugglers and pirates were the
heroes, stimulated the desire, and undermined the principle in
which I had been educated; until, at length, when you informed me
that I was to study under Mr. Vickers for the law, I determined to
run away from school and seek my living by adventure. James
Williams fostered the resolve, and often urged me to it; but my
great difficulty was how to obtain money. By an accidental
circumstance, Howard Pemberton became aware of my passion for the
sea, and he upbraided me about it, kindly and honestly, but I could
not brook it; my old friendship with him ceased, and I grew to hate
him.

About this time, the reception was given at Dr. Brier's of which
you have heard. But you have not heard, and never can know, what
that evening was to me. Satan seemed to have entered into me as he
did into Judas.

I took the miniature and snuff-box from the cabinet in which they
were placed by Mrs. Brier, and resolved to cast the suspicion of
the theft upon Howard.

That night I placed the miniature in the hands of Williams, who
gave me twenty pounds for it, and the snuff-box I placed in the
ticking of Howard's bed.

Need I tell you all the catalogue of wrong? You can almost guess
the rest. Williams procured for me a suit of clothes which would
disguise me, and these were placed ready for me by arrangement with
him. The early morning was very cold, and as I intended to travel
far I thought I would take my great coat. In the hurry and
excitement of the moment, I mistook Howard's for mine.

I left my clothes upon the river bank, and that afternoon I set
sail for America.

In America I spent a few months, the remembrance of which I would
gladly blot from my memory. Money came to me fast from gambling,
and as quickly went. All the time I was restless, fearful, ill at
ease and sick at heart. I had never heard one single word of how my
disappearance might have afflicted those I left behind. I knew not
whether you really thought me dead, or whether my secret had oozed
out. At length I determined, with tears of penitence, to return, to
confess all, to purchase back the miniature from Williams with
money I had won. And, with this resolve, I started back to England.
On arriving, I took up a newspaper, and you may judge the terror I
felt as I read the account of Williams's awful death with the
miniature upon him. It staggered me, but it did not melt my heart.
I interpreted it that my plans were frustrated, as I found that Dr.
Brier had obtained possession of the miniature. I dared not remain
in the country, for fear of discovery and of identification with
the crime of Williams; but I could not tear myself away until I had
once more visited the neighborhood of the dear old school-house.

I cannot think without emotion of that moonlight night when I lay
down beside the marble pillar which tender hearts had caused to be
placed there, "In loving memory of D.M." Oh, my father, how true it
is that "the way of transgressors is hard!" I thought my heart
would break as I lay there on the cold earth and wept the bitterest
tears I ever shed.

If I could but have caught sight of Dr. Brier, or felt the
motherly touch of Mrs. Brier's hand upon my shoulder,--if I could
but have heard the ring of Howard's or Martin's voice in the
play-ground, I felt as if the evil within me would have taken
flight and I should have risen up a regenerated man.

But I was alone. Dead! dead! And I went away with my heart cold and
sad, and my future all dark and purposeless.

A twelvemonth ago I fell in with some Shetlanders who were about to
start on a whaling cruise, and, as the expedition promised plenty
of adventure and excitement, I joined them.

Three months after we left Shetland, we were fast in the ice. For
nine months and more we have been almost starving, and have had to
endure bodily suffering in other respects of a most severe kind.

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