The Pirate Island: A Story of the South Pacific

It was emphatically "a dirty night." The barometer had been slowly but persistently falling during the two previous days; the dawn had been red and threatening, with a strong breeze from S.E.; and as the short dreary November day waxed and waned this strong breeze had steadily increased in strength until by nightfall it had become a regular "November gale," with frequent squalls of arrowy rain and sleet, which, impelled by the furious gusts, smote and stung like hail, and cleared the streets almost as effectually as a volley of musketry would have done.

It was not fit for a dog to be out of doors. So said Ned Anger as he entered the snug bar-parlour of the "Anchor" at Brightlingsea, and drawing a chair close up to the blazing fire of wreck-wood which roared up the ample chimney, flung himself heavily down thereon to await the arrival of the "pint" which he had ordered as he passed the bar.

"And yet there's a many poor souls as has to be out in it, and as is out in it," returned the buxom hostess, entering at the moment with the aforesaid pint upon a small tray. "It's to be hoped as none of 'em won't meet their deaths out there among the sands this fearful night," she added, as Ned took the glass from her, and deposited his "tuppence" in the tray in payment therefor.

A sympathetic murmur of concurrence went round the room in response to this philanthropic wish, accompanied in some instances by doubtful shakes of the head.

"Ay, ay, we all hope that," remarked Dick Bird--"Dicky Bird" was the name which had been playfully bestowed upon him by his chums, and by which he was generally known--"we all hopes that; but I, for one, feels uncommon duberous about it. There's hardly a capful of wind as blows but what some poor unfort'nate craft leaves her bones out there,"--with a jerk of the thumb over his shoulder to seaward,--"and mostly with every wreck there's some lives lost. I say, mates, I s'pose there's somebody on the look-out?"

"Ay, ay," responded old Bill Maskell from his favourite corner under the tall old-fashioned clock-case, "Bob's gone across the creek and up to the tower, as usual. The boy will go; always says as how it's his duty to go up there and keep a look-out in bad weather; so, as his eyes is as sharp as needles, and since one is as good as a hundred for that sort of work, I thought I'd just look in here for a hour or two, so's to be on the spot if in case any of us should be wanted."

"I've often wondered how it is that it always falls to Bob's lot to go upon the look-out in bad weather. How is it?" asked an individual in semi-nautical costume at the far end of the room, whose bearing and manner conveyed the impression that he regarded himself, as indeed he was, somewhat of an intruder. He was a ship-chandler's shopman, with an ambition to be mistaken for a genuine "salt," and had not been many months in the place.

"Well, you see, mister, the way of it is just this," explained old Maskell, who considered the question as addressed more especially to him: "Bob was took off a wrack on the Maplin when he was a mere babby, the only one saved; found him wrapped up warm and snug in one of the bunks on the weather side of the cabin with the water surging up to within three inches of him; so ever since he's been old enough to understand he've always insisted as it was his duty, by way of returning thanks, like, to take the look-out when a wrack may be expected. And, don't you make no mistake, there ain't an eye so sharp as his for a signal-rocket in the whole place, see's 'em almost afore they be fired-- he do."

"And did you ever try to find his relatives?" asked the shopman.

"Well, no; I can't say as we did, exactly," answered old Bill, "'cause you see we didn't rightly know how to set to work at the job. The ship as he was took off of was a passenger-ship, the Lightning of London, and, as I said afore, he was the only one saved. There were nobody else as we could axe any questions of, and, the ship hailing from London, there was no telling where his friends might have come from. There was R.L. marked on his little clothes, and that was all. So we was obliged to content ourselves with having that fact tacked on to the yarn of the wrack in all the papers, in the hope that some of his friends or relations might get to see it. But, bless yer heart! we ain't heard nothing from nobody about him, never a word; so I just adopted him, as the sayin' is, and called him Robert Legerton, arter a old shipmate of mine that's been drowned this many a year, poor chap."

"And how long is it since the wreck happened?" inquired the shopman.

"Well, let me see," said old Bill. "Blest if I can rightly tell," he continued, after a moment or two of reflection. "I've got it wrote down in the family Bible at home, but I can't just rightly recollect at this moment. It's somewheres about fourteen or fifteen years ago this winter, though."

"Fourteen year next month," spoke up another of the company, decidedly. "It was the same gale as my poor brother Joe was drowned in."

"Right you are, Tom," returned Bill. "I remember it was that same gale now, and that's fourteen year agone. And the women as took charge of poor little Bob when we brought him ashore reckoned as he was about two year old or thereaway; they told his age by his teeth--same as you would tell a horse's age, you know, mister."

"Ay! that was a terrible winter for wrecks, that was," remarked Jack Willis, a fine stalwart young fellow of some five-and-twenty. "It was my first year at sea. I'd been bound apprentice to the skipper of a collier brig called the Nancy, sailing out of Harwich. The skipper's name was Daniell, `Long Tom Dan'ell' they used to call him because of his size. He was so tall that he couldn't stand upright in his cabin, and he'd been going to sea for so many years that he'd got to be regular round-shouldered. I don't believe that man ever knowed what it was to be ill in his life; he used to be awful proud of his good health, poor chap! he's dead now--drowned--jumped overboard in a gale of wind a'ter a man as fell off the fore-topsail-yard while they was reefing; and, good swimmer as he was, they was both lost. Now, he was a swimmer if you like. You talk about young Bob being a good swimmer, but I'm blessed if I think he could hold a candle to this here Long Tom Dan'ell as I'm talking about. Why, I recollect once when we was lyin' wind-bound in Yarmouth Roads--"

At this point the narrator was interrupted by the sudden opening of the door and the hurried entry of a tall and somewhat slender fair-haired lad clad in oilskin jumper, leggings, and "sou'-wester" hat, which glistened in the gaslight; while, as he stood in the doorway for a moment, dazzled by the abrupt transition from darkness to light, the water trickled off him and speedily formed a little pool at his feet on the well sanded floor.

This new-comer was Bob Legerton, the hero of my story.

"Well, Bob, what's the news?" was the general exclamation, as the assembled party rose with one accord to their feet. "Rockets going up from the `Middle' and the `Gunfleet,'" panted the lad, as he wiped the moisture from his eyes with the back of his hand.

"All right," responded old Bill. Then drawing himself up to his full height and casting a scrutinising glance round the room, he exclaimed--

"Now, mates, how many of yer's ready to go out?"

"Why, all of us in course, dad," replied Jack Willis. "'Twas mostly in expectation of bein' wanted that we comed down here to-night. And we've all got our oilskins, so you've only got to pick your crew and let's be off."

A general murmur of assent followed this speech, and the men forthwith ranged themselves along the sides of the room so as to give Bill a clear view of each individual and facilitate a rapid choice.

"Then I'll take you, Jack; and you, Dick; and you; and you; and you;" quickly selecting a strong crew of the stoutest and most resolute men in the party.

The chosen ones lost no time in donning their oilskin garments, a task in which they were cheerfully assisted by the others; and while they were so engaged the hostess issued from the bar with tumblers of smoking hot grog, one of which she handed to each of the adventurers, saying--

"There, boys, drink that off before you go out into the cold and the wet; it'll do none of you any harm, I'm sure, on a night like this, and on such an errand as yours. And you, Bill, if you save anybody and decide to bring 'em into Brightlingsea, send up a signal-rocket as soon as you think we can see it over the land, and I'll have hot water and blankets all ready for the poor souls against they come ashore."

"Ay, ay, mother; I will," replied old Bill. "Only hope we may be lucky enough to get out to 'em in time; the wind's dead in our teeth all the way. Now, lads, if ye're all ready let's be off. Thank'ee, mother, for the grog."

The men filed out, Bill leading, and took their way down to the beach, a very few yards distant, the dim flickering light of a lantern being exhibited from the water-side for a moment as they issued into the open air.