Chapter VIII Nothing Venture, Nothing Have
The shock that produced the catastrophe which hurled brother Malachi overboard was caused by the boat striking on a reef of rocks, which lay some little distance out from the land, and, in the blinding snow and darkness, was utterly invisible, although as each wave receded the rocks were uncovered for a few minutes, only to be washed from end to end as a new wave dashed over them.
The boat was lifted by the first wave right on to the top of the reef, and consequently when the reflux of the wave took place, she fell over on her side, and remained exactly as she would have done on a hard beach. The next wave, however, broke right into her, and filled her from end to end, besides smashing the mast and knocking a hole in her as she came down with a tremendous thump. All the men had now jumped overboard, and, under the direction of Ceolwulf, who took in the situation at a glance, scrambled over the rocks before another large wave came, and found on the other side that there was a shallow, sandy pool, where the water came up to their waists, but where they were protected from the extreme violence of the waves by the reef of rocks outside. Ceolwulf had taken the precaution to keep hold of the rope, or warp, which was used for mooring the boat, and, shouting to the others to hold on to this, he watched for another large wave, then, bidding the others haul altogether, they dragged the boat over the rocks into the part where they were, and where they would be able to get the cargo out of the boat before she should break up, which she must inevitably do if the tide were rising.
In the darkness and confusion nobody had thought of seeing whether anyone was missing, but now that all immediate danger was over Ceolwulf began to think he had not seen Malachi.
“Malachi! Malachi!” he shouted, “where art thou?”
A very feeble answer came from behind them:
“Here, Ceolwulf, here.”
“Art hurt, man?”
“Miserere mei, but I have no whole soundness in my body, all my bones are out of joint, and the floods have gone over my soul.”
“Where art thou?”
“I am on dry ground—at least, if that may be called dry which is all wet with snow—but where I am, I know not.”
“He’s all right,” said Ceolwulf, who was holding the rope with one hand and Wulfstan with the other. “He’s got ashore, and the sooner we get there the better, it is only a little way off.”
“Hadn’t we better get our arms out of the boat first? she may be smashed all to pieces before we can get back to her again,” suggested Athelhune.
“Right, quite right,” answered Ceolwulf. “Let every one take as much as he can carry ashore with him, and follow me.” So saying, taking Wulfstan’s hand, he waded ashore to where the voice of brother Malachi guided them. The others followed, carrying the armour, shields, spears, and other weapons.
When they were all ashore, they found they were on a steep shingle beach with a low cliff behind, as far as they could make out in the darkness. Malachi was seated, shivering with cold, on a boulder of rock, and Wulfstan ran up to him, and slapping him on the back, said:
“Hullo! brother Malachi, I am very glad thou art not drowned.”
“Oh, don’t do that! I am very glad too, but don’t touch me, I ache all over. Oh!” groaned brother Malachi, shivering, so that his teeth chattered in his head.
“Well, run about then, and thou wilt soon get warm.”
But the poor monk was too cold and dispirited for that, and only sat still and shivered. It certainly was a dreary outlook, as far as anything could be seen. A group of half-drowned men, a patch of snow-covered beach, the dim outline of foaming waves, and all else indistinguishable blackness.
“How much longer have we got to wait for daylight thinkest thou?” asked Athelhune.
“It is not midnight yet,” answered Ceolwulf gloomily.
“Dost thou know where we are?”
“On the Foreland, I doubt, and we’ve narrowly missed going out to sea down the channel; but I can’t rightly say where we are until I have gone a bit further in-shore.”
“We had better all of us get into some shelter if we can. We can’t pull the boat up, and turn her over and get under her, can we?”
“No, we haven’t got strength enough for that. We had better get up this cliff, and go inland; we shan’t find the wind so keen then.”
They all, therefore, clambered over the shingle, and, scrambling up the low cliff, found themselves among a thick growth of brushwood.
“Now, the best thing we can do, boys, is to cut down enough of this to make a clearing for us to lie down in, and we can pile the cut bushes up to the windward of us, and bring ashore the sail and the skins, and such stores as we’ve got, and make ourselves as snug as we can until daylight breaks. Here, Athelhune, wilt thou set four of them to work with their axes, while I and the others go back to the old boat who has made her last journey, I fear.”
This seemed to all a reasonable proposition, and Athelhune began at once to set the men to work. Although it was very dark, yet, as they had become accustomed to it, it was not really so difficult as it would seem to work in the dimness.
“Hullo! who art thou?” called out Ceolwulf, as he fell over the prostrate body of a man. “Why, it’s brother Malachi I do believe, and he’s gone to sleep; but that won’t do. Here, Wulfstan, come and lead him up the shore. Make him walk; if he goes to sleep he will never wake up again. Hi! Malachi, wake up!”
But Malachi was sound asleep, worn out with cold and wretchedness, and it took a great deal of shaking to rouse him up. When at last he was made to understand where he was, he had scarcely any strength left to walk, and it was with extreme difficulty Wulfstan could get him up the beach and on the top of the cliff; and then Athelhune set him to work to carry the bushes, which the others cut, to the windward side of the clearing they were making.
Ceolwulf and the others now returned with the other things, and they very soon made a tolerable shelter from the wind and snow by stretching the sail and other coverings over stakes driven in the ground, and kept up by the masts and oars, which were rested in the forked end of the upright stakes.
“I suppose we can do nothing more for the old boat?” said Athelhune.
“No, she will have to take her chance. I don’t think much will be left of her to-morrow; the tide is rising fast, and the wind doesn’t show any signs of going down. It’s true she will be sheltered a little by the reef outside, but not much, for there will be a good depth of water over it at high tide.”
“Dost thou know where we are now?”
“It’s where I thought. We are at the end of the Foreland, and have had a near chance of going out to sea,” said Ceolwulf.
“Are there any houses near here?”
“No, not nearer than our old home at the head of the haven; but that was burnt down the night we escaped in the boat—at least so it seemed to me as I looked back.”
“Canst count on any one helping us if we show ourselves by daylight?”
“Aye, I can count on some if they’ve not been killed; but I shall have to go to work cautiously, as we have got no boat now to go back with, unless we can capture another one.”
“Well, the best thing we can do will be to lie as snug here as we can, and close together, to keep ourselves warm.”
As they were now all fairly well warmed by their exertions in making the tent and clearing the ground, there was not much risk to such hardy men from going to rest, and they all lay down under the shelter of the sails and skins, and were soon sound asleep.
The first to wake next morning was Wulfstan, who got up at once, and without waking any one, or at least disturbing them, he went out on to the cliff to see what could be seen of the place where they were wrecked.
The sun had only just risen. It had ceased snowing for some time apparently, for all signs of it had disappeared, and a glorious sight met his eyes. At his feet lay the old boat, lying broadside on to the steep shingle beach, and a large hole in her showed where she had struck the night before. She did not seem to have been any more damaged, and doubtless the reef, which was just beginning to show as the tide receded, had protected her; for the tides were then at neap or nearly so, and consequently the sea had not risen so high or had as much force as it would have had if the spring tides had then prevailed. Beyond the boat the white breakers were tumbling in creamy foam, tinged with the red and gold of the rising sun, which cast a gleaming path of light from the horizon to the feet of Wulfstan; on each side of this path of glory, the sea was deep greeny-grey, ending in a blue and misty purple under the rising sun; above the transparent depths of the exquisite primrose-coloured sky a few fleecy golden clouds floated in the fathomless blue of the heavens, while a gentle but rather keen breeze brought health and vigour to the lungs of the hardy boy. Far on the horizon, towards the north-east, a distant line of grey hills showed where the great Andredesweald stretched away in the distance.
Sniffing the fresh sea air, the boy ran along the beach, and, turning a point a little way to the south-west of him, came upon a long reef of rocks running far out into the sea, and over which the waves were rushing and tumbling in wild confusion as the tide ebbed into the main channel stream.
Out upon these rocks a solitary heron was looking for his morning meal with outstretched neck, while flocks of oxy birds rose in flickering flight, or settled, with shrill cry, on the luxuriant sea-weed that clothed the rocks with sheeny growth.
As Wulfstan went further on, following the shore as it trended towards the west, a great wall of chalk rose suddenly above the low gravel cliff, and shut out all further view in that direction. Above, the magnificent chalk cliff, that went in sheer descent from a height of some three hundred feet into the blue sea below, crowned with a smooth slope of brown turf, rose in gradual swell to sink again in steeper descent towards the north, while its precipitous sides sloped abruptly to the low ground of the foreland.
“Oh! there’s our dear old Binbrigge dune!”1 cried Wulfstan, who had many a time ridden over those grassy slopes, and been lowered over the cliff to collect the sea-fowls’ eggs that were laid in otherwise unapproachable nooks and ledges of the precipice.
The boy had forgotten all the past weeks. He seemed once more at home, and wandered on, forgetful of the shipwreck, the sick brother left on the mainland, and his own burnt home.
He was roused from his dreams by a rustling in the long coarse grass that fringed the low cliff, and directly afterwards a boy’s voice called out, in amazement:
“Why, it’s the young eorl Wulfstan, I do believe!”
“What, Stuff, is it thou?” cried Wulfstan joyfully, as a thick-set, sturdy, shock-headed young Wihtwara of about Wulfstan’s age emerged from the cover of the tall grass.
“Why, where hast thou been, Wulfstan, all this while?”
“Aha, Stuff, I’ve been a voyage, and I have killed a wild boar, and thou canst not think how well I can fish. Brother Malachi has taught me how to make net, and what’s the right sort of bait for pout, and bass, and lots of things.”
“Oh, Wulfstan, thou dost not say so! And where’s Ædric and old Biggun? But thou hadst better not be seen, or thou wilt be killed, that thou wilt.”
“What happened that night when Arwald attacked us?”
“What, don’t thee know? That was a fine night, that was. How it did burn just! and weren’t there a many head broke! Oh, Loki!”1
“Who was killed? What became of father?”
“Why, who’s that a-standing there on the point yonder? I do believe its old Biggun! and he’s calling thee. Thou hadst better run, Wulfstan.”
“Thou must come too, and tell us all that has happened.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Stuff, scratching his head, and looking dubiously in the direction of Ceolwulf, of whom he seemed to stand considerably in awe.
“Thou hadst better, Stuff, for if thou dost not I will make thee.”
“Thou make me! I’d like to see thee do it. Why, I’ve——”
But before he could say any more Wulfstan had seized him round both arms, and putting his foot behind Stuff’s heels, laid him on the ground in an instant, falling on him at the same time, so that all poor Stuff’s breath was knocked out of his body with the concussion.
“There, I told thee thou hadst better do what I bid thee.”
But Stuff struggled manfully on the ground, and did all he could to shake or roll Wulfstan off him.
“Ah, wouldst thou? If thou dost not lie still and listen to what I am going to say, I will pommel thee black and blue. Dost thou not know I am thine eorl now? or at least I am till Ædric comes back.”
But Stuff only struggled all the harder, for he was a sturdy young Wihtwara and very obstinate, until at last Wulfstan had to put his threat into execution, and began to beat the breath out of his unruly antagonist.
The contest was speedily ended by the arrival of Ceolwulf, who, seeing the struggle, and not understanding the cause, strode hastily up to the spot, fearing lest some harm should happen to his young lord.
“Hullo! what’s all this about?” he exclaimed, as he saw that he need not have been uneasy about Wulfstan, who was evidently master of the situation. “Whom have we got here?”
“It’s Stuff, Biggun; he didn’t want to come to thee, and I said I would make him. He doesn’t understand that I’m his master now.”
“Do thou leave him to me, Wulfstan; it isn’t for the like of thee to be rolling on the ground with such as he. He won’t get away now, I’ll make sure.”
Wulfstan accordingly allowed the youngster to rise, and Ceolwulf said sharply to him:
“Down on thy knees, and beg the young eorl’s pardon for having dared to be insolent to him, or it will be the worse for thee.”
Stuff did as he was bid sullenly enough, saying as he did so:
“He didn’t know as how he was his eorl now, there had been such changes.”
“Don’t talk to me of changes,” said Ceolwulf. “He who has once been born a thrall is always a thrall to his eorl until he frees him, and that thou wilt not be in a hurry.”
“Never mind, Stuff, thou shalt not be hurt, if thou art only wise and behavest properly. Of course, thou didst not know, that’s all.”
“Now come along with us, we can’t be standing here where anyone might see us. Do thou come and tell us all that’s been going on since we’ve been away,” said Ceolwulf.
The three went off in the direction of the wreck, where, on their arrival, they found all astir.
“Is there any water about here fit to drink, Ceolwulf, thinkest thou?” called Athelhune.
“Aye, that there is, and very good water, too,” cried Wulfstan. “Come with me, Beornwulf, and I will show thee where the spring is.”
“Go with the young eorl, Beornwulf and Osborn, and take a bucket or two if thou hast them,” said Athelhune.
They very soon found the spring, which was not far off along the shore, but the opposite way to that which Wulfstan had taken before. Amid some dead seaweed, blown up above high water mark, and a few large stones covered with moss and lichen and sheltering a few ferns, a clear spring of water welled up in unpolluted purity, and, trickling over the stones, lost itself immediately in the loose shingle of the shore. A spring that might elsewhere have been the source of some large stream, but here, cut off at once in its earliest infancy, joined the sea without longer life than a few short feet of furrowed stone—a fitting subject for a moralist or divine; but, as neither Wulfstan nor his companions were in the least degree disposed to either character, they drew as much water as they wanted, and returned to the others.
Ceolwulf had elicited from the reluctant Stuff a short account of all that had taken place after the destruction of Ælfhere’s houses and farm-buildings. It appeared that Arwald had left a trusty adherent of his to look after the district, and to set the thralls to work to pursue their usual avocations as if nothing had happened, only all the produce was to be considered as Arwald’s property.
Ceolwulf could not find out anything about his master, Ælfhere. As far as he could make out, nobody had found his body after he was seen to fall in the midst of the fight; but Stuff said everyone declared he must be dead, as he was seen to receive a terrible wound in the head from an axe, and “there was them as said Arwald had carried off his body.”
When asked whether he thought the people were discontented with the man whom Arwald had placed over the thralls, Stuff said he thought nobody liked him; but they were all afraid of him, as there were some fighting men left to support his authority.
“How many are there?”
“I don’t rightly know the proper number, but I think there are not more than eight or nine.”
“Dost thou think, if we drove them off or killed them, the rest of the people would fight for their young eorls, Ædric and Wulfstan?”
“Aye, that I do. Thou knowest us all well enough for that, Biggun.”
This answer being considered satisfactory, it was agreed it would be best to keep the boy with them all day. That they would try and get the boat up out of the reach of the sea and cover her up as well as possible in order to prevent her being seen by anyone; that then, at nightfall, they would march, under Ceolwulf’s guidance, to a knoll, covered with thick brushwood and trees; that they would make their head-quarters at this place; and if Ceolwulf, after seeing a few of the old servants and herdsmen of Ælfhere should judge that they really could offer an effectual resistance to an attack from Arwald, that they would then make an onslaught on the ruined house and farm buildings, and drive off the party Arwald had placed there, and that they would then send over to Cædwalla and ask him to come to take possession of the island.
In accordance with this determination, immediately after their simple meal the men all set to work, under Ceolwulf’s instructions, to pull the boat up the beach, a matter very much more easy to accomplish now that they had taken everything out of her, and could see what they were about. They cut down a couple of straight and slight young ash trees, and dividing them into three lengths each, they soon had the old boat up high and dry under the low cliff, hauling her up on the ash rollers. Ceolwulf then made a careful examination of the hole in the boat, and was pleased to see that it would not take very much time to put a couple of new planks in, and she would then be capable of at least making one voyage across to Boseham in fine weather.
Having accomplished this part of their work, the men were set to clean the armour and weapons, and put what food was left in the buckets, and get all ready for their expedition a little before nightfall.
Brother Malachi had quite recovered his usual spirits, and had become an object of much interest and astonishment to Stuff, who had never seen a man like him. He longed to ask Wulfstan all about him, but was rather shy of talking to the young eorl now that he had so clearly established his rightful position, and he was also struck by the respect the others paid him.
The day passed away without particular incident. About an hour before dusk Ceolwulf directed all to fall in, and, telling Stuff to keep near him, led the way to their intended stronghold. Their route lay through dense brushwood, but Ceolwulf soon struck into a narrow track where walking was more easy, but in which they were obliged to proceed in single file.
After going in this way about a mile, they descended a very steep declivity, and came out upon an open meadow. And then the strangers perceived that they were on the border of a large land-locked piece of water, to which, standing where they were, they could see no inlet from the sea.
The tide was up, and the expanse of silver water stretching up to the foot of a high down at its western end, and washing a steeply-wooded shore opposite, had all the appearance of a magnificent lake or splendid harbour, offering a very different scene to what it would be in five hours’ time, when, instead of a silver mirror in which the hills and woods and autumn sky were pictured, a tiny stream would sluggishly meander between brown slush and slimy mud.
Crossing this meadow, the party plunged once more into the dense wood, and ascending a slight rise, dipped again to the level of the sea; but the wood was so thick they could see nothing on either hand or ahead, and had still to walk in single file.
Again the path rose steeply in front, and they seemed to be mounting a considerable acclivity. Climbing higher and higher, Ceolwulf left the beaten track, and turned aside through the low growth of oak and ash that seemed unable to attain to any size, and were gnarled and twisted into all sorts of fantastic shapes.
Scrambling over some moss-covered boulders, Ceolwulf stopped, and said:
“Here, men, we will make our camp; there is a spring down the steep slope on that side, and by felling a few trees, we can make a very fair shelter for ourselves, as well as a stockade against any sudden attack.”
The place, certainly, was well chosen. There was a small open space on the top of the hill, but no view could be obtained from this as the trees grew thick all round. It was, however, sufficiently obvious that the sides of the hill were very steep, and a handful of men could hold their own for some time, especially with the aid of a few fallen trees to form a breastwork.
As it was now getting dark, no time was to be lost in making their preparations for spending the night. While these operations were going on, Ceolwulf said he would go down into the valley, and find out how matters really were in the vicinity of their old home. So saying, and equipping himself in his hawberk, and with all his offensive weapons, he disappeared among the trees on his way down the hill.
Notes
1 Bembridge Down.
1 LOKI.—The Scandinavian God of Mischief. He caused the death of Baldur the Beautiful.