CHAPTER V.

A MOUNTAIN WAVE COMES SWELLING OVER THE SANDS.

"His form was of the manliest beauty, His heart was kind and soft; Faithful below he did his duty, But now he's gone aloft."--DIBDIN.

"When I heard," said Dan Brundell, "that there was a brig ashore on the tail of the Gorton Sands, I had no more notion that it was Bob's _Polly Ann_ than I have o' what the weather will be this day month. I'd been down with some oars Gorton ways, and I met old Ashley while returning.

"Would I volunteer, he said, to go in the _Fairy_; one of his sons was from home, and we might, he said, pick up a bit o' salvage, as well as flotsom.

"'She's hard and fast now,' he says, 'but is bound to break up.'

"So I thought too, when I embarked, for it was blowing 56-pounders, and a heavy sea tearing in from the east. It was the heavy, tearing sea that did it. 'Fore we had got well abreast o' the Gorton Tail, we could see in the bright moonlight the dark hull o' the brig, both masts snapped short off, lifting and falling in the jaws of the foaming seas like a creature in agony.

"'She can't stand it for half-an-hour," said Ashley; 'and what's more, Dan, we can't get anyw'eres near her. There'll be widows a-weeping to-morrow mornin', mate, at old Yarmouth docks.'

"But what we saw next astonished Ashley himself, though, man and boy, he'd been on the water all his life. It was a mountain sea coming swelling over the sands and swallowing everything up before it, and lo! sir, in a minute more, there was the dark hull of that brig being borne bodily toward us.'

"What happened after this I can't well describe, bein' as how I'm slow o' speech like, but in half-an-hour all the beach for a mile and more, was strewn wi' wreck, and many a body was washed in on the surf and left dead, or for dead, on the sands. But lawk! sir, you could have knocked me down with a sledge-hammer when, on turning over one of these bodies, I found it was poor Bob yonder, and no one else."

"He had a small deed-box alongside him, with a piece o' manilla round it. He had come ashore with this. I didn't doubt that, even then.

"At first I thought him dead. But he soon opened his eyes and spoke.

"'Haul me high and dry,' he said, 'high and dry, dear brother, for I can't move. It isn't drowned I am at all. It's a stroke, Dan; a stroke."

"This was a sad sort of a meeting 'twixt two brothers that had always loved each other same as Bob and me has, and for the life of me I couldn't have spoken then, no, never a word. I tried to swallow back my grief and tears, as it were, and lifted the lad right up in my arms, and carried him away beyond the reach o' the raging surf, and there I laid him down. I knelt beside him there in the pale moonlight. I cared for nothing nor nobody just then, but only Bob. I noticed though, that his eyes and head were turned wistful-like towards the boiling sea.

"'Dan,' he said, 'bring the box and put it close by me. Thanks, dear Dan; you were always good. Now go at once, Dan, and look for Captain Bure and his little boy.' It wasn't long either 'fore I found 'em. The poor little tot of a chap with long, silken hair, and bonnie black eyes, was weeping and wailing over his father.

"'Oh, sailor man,' he said to me, 'poor pa! poor pa! He's deaded! he's deaded!'

"'No, no, my little man,' I answered. 'Your father isn't dead.' So I hurried away and got the gentlemen into the cave. Gentle and simple, dead and maimed and living, they all lay there, with the cold moonbeams glinting in through the doorway, and struggling like wi' the yellow rays of the whale oil lamp.

"In two hours' time the doctor had come, and we--the living ones--began to gain hope and courage.

"The good man did all he could for everybody, and next day Captain Bure, with his little boy Tom--yes, Tom that has just gone to turn in--and poor Bob, were fetched in the boat waggon to our cottage here. The captain was soon able to get about, but Bob lay quiet enough, and never yet has he lifted hand or foot.

"But it wasn't a stroke, the doctor said, not of the 'pplexy, anyhow. 'More likely,' he said, 'it's been a stroke with a floating spar, and the neck is injured right smart.'

"Well, sir, it would have done your heart good to have seen how kind and attentive the captain was to Bob. 'He's been my nurse many's the time,' he said, 'and now, Mr. Dan, it's my turn.'

"But all the time I could see as plain's I see the moon shining on the curtains yonder, that the poor captain himself would soon be under the daisies and grass."

"One morning, says the gentleman to me smiling-like, 'I'm going to charter your boat-waggon to-day, Dan, if you'll come with me to Yarmouth, and young Tom'll stop with Bob till we return.'

"It was a lovely day, sir, with the birds all singing as if their hearts were swelling with the joy that was in them, and their feelings had to find vent somewhere in song, or in lofty flight. So we drove round by the big hill on the broad.

"I could see the captain meant to make a day of it, and so I drove slow.

"When I came near the hall and the pretty grounds and the swaying trees and rookeries and things, he told me to drive slower still, that he might enjoy every thing, and all the beauties of nature around him. But la! sir, I was surprised to see him so white and pale like. At last he said, 'Drive on now, Dan as fast ye like.' He was still white and ghastly-like, though, so I jumped down at a pub and got a tot of rum. I took a sip myself, more for fashion sake like, and made him swallow the rest.

"He was better all day after that; but I remember he laughed once or twice as he told me his feet were so cold. 'Seems funny,' he said, 'on so fine a day.'

"I didn't answer much. I knew well there wasn't a deal of fun in it.

"We had that deed-box with us, and we went into the bank. We left the box there, and had a long talk with the banker. Leastways, Captain Bure had.

"Then he turned to me, and laughed again.

"'My good Dan,' he said, 'if the cold of my feet gets higher up and goes round the heart----'

"The tears sprang to my silly eyes, sir.

"'Oh, sir!' I cried, 'don't talk so, it grieves me to hear it.'

"'There are times,' he said, 'when men must talk straight. Now, I've known your brother so long, Dan, and heard so much about you, that I want you to be a father to little Tom--if----'

"'I know, sir!' I cried. 'Don't repeat it. My wife and I have neither chick nor child savin' little Ruth. We'll see to Tom.'

"He clasped my hand.

"'Mr. Mackay,' he said, 'has full instructions, and enough money of mine to give Tom bite and sup, and a good education. Come, Dan, and we'll buy some comforts for poor Bob.'

* * * * *

"I am not sure," continued Dan, after a pause, "if that isn't all the story."

"Not quite," said Mr. Merryweather. "There is the death of Captain Bure, you know."

"Ah, sir, we won't speak of that. It happened soon; and he lies in a quiet corner of the great churchyard at Yarmouth. Little Tom and I go there one Sunday every month to put flowers upon the grave."

The honest boat-builder ceased talking and lit his pipe.

"Dear droll little Tom," he added a moment after, "he does say such queer things. Maybe other folks wouldn't notice 'em, but I do. 'It's only pa's body that lies here, you know, daddy,' he said to me two Sundays ago, 'his soul has gone up to the clouds to live, hasn't it?'

"I didn't speak for a minute, I was thinkin' o' the words of that song, sir--

'For though his body's under hatches, His soul has gone aloft.'

"The little chap sat down beside the grave and arranged the flowers, then smoothed all the long grass out straight as if it had been hair. He took my hand after that, and we walked quietly and silently away.

"'Pa,' he said afterwards, 'is only afraid I'll be drowned if I go to sea. But I think he'll be pleased when I am a sailor all the same.'

"No, Tom never looks upon his father as really dead, you know.

"Mr. Curtiss is our curate, and he is Tom's tutor, though Bob there teaches him a lot, and has pretty nearly made a sailor of him already. And I'm sure I cannot blame poor Bob----for----"

Dan paused now, and held up his forefinger warningly, while his eyes rested on his brother's face. He took the pipe away and shifted the light, for the invalid was fast asleep. Then he went silently away on tip-toe, and Mr. Merryweather followed him, with just one good-night glance at the sleeping form of his old shipmate, Bob.