Chapter VII “Ho! Watchman; What of the Night!”
“Well, there’s plenty to be done, anyway,” growled old Biggun, as he gradually took in the full extent of the news Athelhune had brought, “and the worst of it is there’s not many of us to do it. Well, well, we shall see. The tide don’t cease flowing till a little before dusk; if we can get away somewhere before that we shall have daylight to take us over that bar, and when once we are outside we shall be all right then. Let me see, how’s the wind? Why, there is not much, but what little draught of air there is comes from the right quarter. It’s about north-east to easterly, I’m thinking, and that’s why we heard all that to do at Cissanceaster so clearly.”
So saying, the old man, putting a few articles into the boat, went off to join the others, who were all busy cleaning the fish and cooking them on an iron plate placed over the fire, which had been hastily lighted outside Father Dicoll’s hut.
There was a great deal to be done before Ceolwulf could start on the expedition, which was a very dangerous one. While he was with Cædwalla he had obtained that prince’s consent to the despatching of some of his followers with Ceolwulf to see what had become of Ælfhere, and how matters were going on in Wihtea, and if he found that there were many who were discontented with the way Arwald was conducting affairs, Cædwalla promised to come over and help him; and if Ælfhere were alive, he would reinstate him in his possessions and authority, or, if he were dead, he would appoint someone to look after matters in his interest, and until Ædric and Wulfstan were old enough to look after themselves. Now that matters had taken this unhappy turn for Cædwalla, Ceolwulf thought it would have been more prudent if he had gone to join the prince and had sent the boys to St. Wilfrid; but he did not like to act contrary to Cædwalla’s orders, especially as he depended upon him for supporting them all later on. “After all,” he thought, “I can but go across and see how the land lies, and then come back again. The boys will be quite safe meanwhile with Wilfrid, for they will go there, anyhow.”
After they had had their dinner, Ceolwulf and Athelhune walked apart and decided what was to be done. The boat would take eight persons easily: could they muster eight? There were only Beornwulf and the other man, whose name was Osborn, for the wounded man was too badly hurt to be of any use; that only made four. “Would any of the people of Boseham go?” said Athelhune. “By the way, I forgot to give thee this gold which Cædwalla bid me give thee. It might be useful to induce some of them to go.”
“Well, we can try,” said Ceolwulf. “But thou wilt get on better with them than I shall; do thou go and have a talk with a few while I get Beornwulf and Osborn to get down what we want for the undertaking.”
Under Ceolwulf’s directions, all the arms were put into the boat. The shields and linked mail shirts were carefully stowed out of the way of any sea water, and then such pieces of pork and bread as Ceolwulf was able to obtain by hard bargaining from the richer ceorls’ wives were put in, and, finally, a tub, or beaker, of water completed the preparations. Everything was put very securely in its place, and every care taken against damage by the movement of the sea.
Meanwhile, Athelhune had induced three fairly stalwart young men to accompany them, promising them some weapons and a small sum of money as a recompense.
It was now nearly high water, and the boat was floating alongside of the quay. She looked in very much better condition than when she arrived, and Wulfstan was helping Biggun to hoist the sail.
“I say, Biggun, where art thou going to?”
“Well, Wulfstan, I am going over to Wihtea.”
“Oh! art thou truly? And, of course, I am going too?”
“Why, no, Wulf. Thou seest it is a little dangerous, and there would be no use in thy going. We shan’t be long gone; only I know that thou and Ædric would like to know what’s going on over there, and so we shall go out with the tide this evening, and return, maybe, the day after to-morrow.”
“Oh, Biggun, do let me go! I will be quite good and do all thou tellest me; I promise I will.”
“No, Wulf, no; it’s no good asking me. There, we’ve got the sail well set, and the sooner we get off the better. Now, let’s see where are our crew? Athelhune, let’s have a look at them altogether.”
The five men were accordingly called up, and Athelhune briefly told them that Cædwalla, whose generosity they all knew, and whose vengeance also it was as well to avoid, had decided to find out how matters were going on in Wihtea, and for this purpose had determined to send Ceolwulf and himself as eorldomen to explore the east end of the island, and having found out the state of affairs to come back and report to him; that he had chosen those five men for this honourable occupation, and that all would be well remembered and suitably rewarded when Cædwalla’s power was firmly established; and the more they contributed to this end the sooner would their own position be secured. There was little or no danger, for which, no doubt, as brave fellows, they would be sorry; for in Ceolwulf they had a first-rate guide, and one who knew every inch of the ground, and was well known by all the inhabitants; he would show them a good harbour, and they were sure of a good welcome.
To this speech Wulfstan listened open-eared, and when it was over he ran up to Ceolwulf and said:
“Thou heardest what he said? He said there was no danger, and that thou wouldest have a sure welcome; well, then, why can’t I go? Do let me go, Biggun?”
“No, Wulfstan, I can’t! Who is to take care of Ædric?”
“Oh, he won’t mind; and, besides, we are to be away such a short time.”
“No, no, don’t bother me so. Seest thou not how busy I am?” and to avoid further entreat, Ceolwulf walked off to talk to Father Dicoll, whom he found in earnest converse with brother Malachi.
“I trust, Father Dicoll, thou wilt have the boys sent over to Wilfrid if there is any danger from the South Saxon eorls,” said Ceolwulf.
“We will do what we can, my son, and I was talking to brother Malachi about it as thou camest up. Our best way will be to let Wilfrid know, and then, no doubt, as he has men, to whom he can say ‘come’ and they come, and to others ‘go’ and they go, he will send over and have them taken under safe conduct to his house at Selsea. This we will have done. But there is another matter brother Malachi here wants to speak to thee about. He is urgent with me to let him go with thee to Wihtea; he says he has been urged by the Spirit to carry the Gospel of good tidings to that benighted spot. When I urged him that the Lord had work enough for him here, he said that here were many instruments of God. That there was brother Corman and myself, and Wilfrid and all his clergy; and that he had seen in a vision of the night, like the blessed Paul, a man of Wihtea standing by, and saying, ‘Come over and help us.’ I told him of the dangers, but I am glad to say that, like a true follower of our Lord, these only made him all the more earnest to be gone——”
“There, Father Dicoll, thou hast said enough; if the poor creature wants to get killed it is not for me to prevent him. Ye have been good and hospitable men to us, and taken care of Ædric and Wulfstan right manfully, and if I can do anything to help thee or thine, I’m only too glad to have the opportunity. Let him come.”
Brother Malachi had been listening to all that was said, and going up to Father Dicoll he knelt down and asked his blessing, much to the astonishment of the Saxons, who all began to laugh; and they laughed still more when he rose up and kissed Dicoll and Corman, who returned the salutation, saying as they did so, “I, frater, in pace et Dominus tecum.”
“These be odd men,” said Athelhune, who, not quite so utterly uncultivated as the other Saxons standing by, was yet amused at their singular habits; for to the Teutonic mind outward and practical evidence of affection always appeared effeminate.
Malachi now turned to Eddie and Wulfstan, and took a kind farewell of both of them, especially of Ædric, who returned his affectionate greeting, and struggled hard to restrain his emotion, which he would not for the world have shown before all those men; but he longed for his home and news of his father, and it seemed hard that a stranger could go and he could not. “My son, our home is not here, nor there, but our home is in heaven,” whispered Malachi, as Ædric murmured his regret in his ear.
As for Wulfstan, he was very sulky; he was particularly angry to find that a monk was allowed to go and he was not.
“Why, isn’t he in the way far more than I am? He doesn’t know how to row, and I do; and he can’t fight nearly so well as I can. What’s the good of him if he can’t fight? I call it a shame, Ædric. I used to like old Biggun, but now I hate him. He’s got so proud since Cissanceaster, and forgets he was our father’s herdsman. I hate him, I do!”
“Hush, Wulfstan, thou oughtest not to be so ungrateful. Thou forgettest he lost everything just as much as we did, and he might have saved it all, by making friends with Arwald. And think how he has taken care of us, and what trouble he took in bringing us over here, and he only fought so well—and thou oughtest to be proud of him for it—in order to get Cædwalla to take an interest in us, and send us some men to help us. What good couldest thou do? and, of course, thou wouldest be very much in the way.”
“Oh, Ædric, thou art as bad as the monks! Thou only sayest all this because thou art not able to go too. Thou knowest if thou wert well enough to go thou wouldest only be too ready to talk evil of Ceolwulf. Oh, I hate it all—but I will go! Thou shalt see!” added Wulfstan, with a determined look.
The preparations for departure were nearly all ready; the men were carrying down a few last articles that might be necessary, and Ceolwulf and Athelhune were bidding good-bye to Father Dicoll and brother Corman. Most of the women and children of the place had gathered round, and there was much confusion of noise and bustle. Such an event as the departure of a boat full of eight men all armed, and one an eorldoman and another a distinguished warrior, for so Ceolwulf was now regarded, was too important not to create considerable excitement. Brother Malachi too going! How would the poor monks get on for fish? how would the poor man fare amid those rough men of war?
“Well, good-bye, Ædric; keep up thy spirits till I come back, and get well as quickly as thou canst. Why, where’s Wulfstan? I wanted to say good-bye to him; but perhaps I had better not; he’ll only bother me over again to take him, and that I won’t do. So do thou say that I looked for him, but couldn’t see him; that will do quite as well.”
So saying, Ceolwulf went down to the boat, and then found that he really had plenty to do, for only the three Boseham men had any idea of rowing. Fortunately, there was a little wind, and by setting one of the Boseham men to pull each oar, and one of the others to push, they were likely in this way to get into the swing of the art.
He had also to explain the use of the ropes; but this did not take long, only Ædric was convulsed with laughter at the sail coming down quite suddenly on Ceolwulf’s head, as he was showing one of the men how to make fast the sheet or rope which pulls in the sail. In order to see if the man quite knew where it was and what he ought to do, he had told him to let the rope go, with the result that the sail came down with a run. The man had already confused it with the main-halyard or rope that pulled the sail—which was a lug-sail—up to the top of the mast.
As nearly all the men were in the boat, the sudden descent of the sail caused considerable confusion, and some angry exclamations; however, at last all was ready, and Ceolwulf, who was getting impatient to be off, gave the order to cast her off from her moorings, and taking an oar, put it into a deep notch in the boat’s stern, and prepared to steer her.
The children all began to shout. Ædric waved his hand. Father Dicoll and brother Corman stood by him, and called a farewell to brother Malachi, who stood near the mast in the bow of the boat. Athelhune stood near Ceolwulf, and the others rowed as they were placed. The boat glided gently away, and long soft ripples from her stern caused all the shadows of the trees and the clouds to tremble in wavering patterns as they rolled to the shore.
“There, they are off,” said Father Dicoll to Ædric; “and may the blessing of the Almighty go with brother Malachi, for he goeth as a lamb among wolves. My soul yearneth for his safety.”
“Doesn’t the boat look pretty as she sails away?” said brother Corman.
“Ah! it reminds me of our sails in the old days at home, when we used to go out on the lough to fish.”
It was a pretty scene: the sun was slowly sinking in the west, a grey mist rose over the western horizon, hiding the slushy banks and sedges of the shore; the red light of the sun came in a long flood up the creek, against it the black sail and dark heads of the men stood out in contrast.
“They go up a path of blood,” sighed Dicoll. “May it be an omen of a path that leads to glory.”
Behind, the clouds were working up in great black masses, that stretched across from north-west to south-east, and the breeze became colder.
The tide had begun to turn, and the boat was disappearing round a distant bend in the creek.
“There! they are gone, and it’s time we went to vespers. Let us carry in Ædric, and make ready for the night. It looks black away to the east and north. I trust we are not going to have snow.”
“I wonder where Wulfstan is,” said Corman. “I didn’t see him when the boat went off, and I should have thought he would have been the last to look at them.”
“I expect he has gone off after some more withies,” said Ædric.
“Well, I daresay he will come in when he’s tired; but boys ought to learn discipline while they are young, for it is a harder matter afterwards,” said Father Dicoll.
Meanwhile the boat was getting on very well; the novices in the art of rowing were quickly becoming used to the swing and management of the oar; so much so, that Ceolwulf had told the Boseham men to rest and leave the others to go on, as their services might be wanted later. Only one man had caught a crab, and being swung by the violence of the shock against poor brother Malachi, coming in painful contact with the monk’s body, causing him to ejaculate with more than usual fervour, “Ah! quare tristis es venter meus! et quare conturbas me?” Beyond this little catastrophe, which, by the way, did not increase the good feeling of the man who had caused the monk’s discomfort for his victim—for he did not understand the meaning of his ejaculations, and mistook them for condemnatory remarks—nothing else occurred.
A little more breeze had now got up, not sufficient, however, to create any ripple on the water, but just enough to keep the sail full.
They were fast approaching the entrance, and could hear the dull thud of the sea as it broke on the shingle outside.
“We shall have light enough, brother Malachi, I doubt not, to pass out by?” called Ceolwulf.
“The Lord helping us, we shall not run aground,” answered Malachi.
The sail was beginning to do its work famously, and Ceolwulf bid the men put their oars in, and suggested to Athelhune that some food would be a good thing. Accordingly, search was made in the boat, when suddenly a man called out:
“Why, in the name of Asgard, whom have we here?”
All looked round, and there, under a skin that sheltered the provisions in the bow of the boat, was Wulfstan.
“Ah! Biggun,” the boy shouted, “I told thee I should come, and thou canst not put me out now.”
Ceolwulf saw it was no use being angry; so, giving the boy a sharp rating for not doing what he was told, he made up his mind to the inevitable.
And now the sun disappeared behind the low bank of what is at present known as Hayling Island, and the breeze came up fresher behind them.
“It’s getting cold,” said Athelhune. “We shall have snow, I fear——”
“We shan’t be long getting over with this breeze, however. It’s dead aft and a smooth sea,” replied Ceolwulf.
The boat was just beginning to feel the motion of the sea, and was passing between the narrow entrance where Ceolwulf and the boys had struck when coming in for the first time.
“Look out for the sail as she comes over!” shouted Biggun, as the boat was altering its course to thread the intricate channel.
“There! I knew somebody’s cap would be knocked off,” added the old man, as Beornwulf’s cap was carried over into the sea by the sail.
“Now, look alive, and shift over the sheet, someone. No! not that rope. Here, someone with a head upon his shoulders—that’s right, Wulfstan, thou understandest it, and can teach them something.”
This was an admission on the part of Ceolwulf which Wulfstan did not allow to pass over without notice.
“Ah, Biggun, thou findest that out now; it’s lucky for ye all I shipped myself aboard. Thou seest, Biggun, thou dost not know what’s for thine own good.”
To this remark Biggun only grunted.
It was now getting too dark to make out objects more than a hundred yards off, and it required a watchful eye in the bows to see where the waves were breaking. The tide was rushing out through the narrow entrance with a swirl and an eddy that caused many small white crested waves, which it was necessary to distinguish from the real breakers on the sand banks. Brother Malachi was standing in the bows keeping a sharp look-out with one of the Boseham men, and Ceolwulf was steering, the rest were having some food.
“Here comes a long wave; keep her head up to it,” called the Boseham man, as a long wall of water rose out of the darkness and seemed to stand right up above the bows of the boat; but Ceolwulf put her head at it, and she rose gently over and plunged down on the other side, while the wave rolled on and thundered behind them on the shore.
“There, we are clear of all banks now, and have nothing but the open sea before us,” called Malachi, as he sat down under the lee of the boat’s gunwale.
“Thou hadst better come aft, brother Malachi,” called Wulfstan, who, now that he had accomplished his object, was glad the good monk was coming too; he always felt comfortable when the kind monk was near, because he never scolded him, or laughed at him, but quietly pointed out where he was wrong very patiently.
Darkness had by this time become complete, and there was nothing for Ceolwulf to steer by except a vague kind of instinct that told him to keep the sail as full as it was when they last saw land; he had then put the head of the boat pointing directly for the spot he wished to make for, and he argued that if he did not draw the wind either too much on her starboard beam, or, on the other hand, let it jibe the sail over, he must make land where he wanted in about three hours’ time. He had not calculated that it was possible for the wind to shift.
The men were curling themselves up to go to sleep, and Malachi was murmuring some words to himself.
“What sayest thou, brother Malachi?” asked Wulfstan.
“I was asking the Almighty to preserve us through the dangers of the night, Wulfstan.”
“But there are no dangers.”
“There are always dangers on the sea.”
“Not if thou takest care and keepest a good look-out.”
“But thou mayest not know thy way, storms may rise, the boat may spring a leak, or she may strike on a rock.”
“How can she spring a leak if she has just been mended? and how can she strike on a rock when she is ever so far from shore? I believe thou art frightened, brother Malachi; but there’s no need, there is nothing to be afraid of. Come and sit by me; I will take care of thee.”
The rushing, gurgling sound under the bows of the boat showed she was going through the water very fast. As they got further out from the land, the sea got up rather more, and from time to time the boat gave wild rushes ahead, and then sank down in the trough of the waves, only to rise again, lifting her stern up and careering madly forward until her head rose in the air, and the wave curled over in front. It took all Ceolwulf’s steering with the oar to keep her from broaching-to, as it is called when the boat in running before the breeze turns broadside to the wind on the top of a rolling wave, a situation which, it is needless to say, is a very dangerous one.
“Why, the spray is coming in astern, Ceolwulf.”
“No, it’s not the sea, it’s snow, and it’s coming on thick, I’m thinking.”
“Wilt thou be able to make out the land?” said Athelhune.
“We are not there yet,” growled Ceolwulf, who was not in a very good humour, for he was getting cold, and was beginning to be a little doubtful of their whereabouts.
They had now sailed for about two hours, and they ought to be getting near land; it was very thick, however, and the snow was coming on faster than ever. The sea was getting much heavier, and from time to time Ceolwulf had the greatest difficulty in keeping his oar in the notch.
Wulfstan had coiled himself up, and had now gone to sleep. The others were mostly asleep or dozing, but Malachi and Athelhune felt the uncertainty of their position, and shared Ceolwulf’s anxiety.
“We ought to be near land now, ought we not?” asked Malachi.
“We are not far off, I’m thinking,” said Ceolwulf. “Lend me a hand with this oar, Athelhune,” he added, as a more than ordinarily large wave rose up astern, and sent the boat staggering along with a wild lurch and headlong plunge that took the wind out of the sail, and called for all Ceolwulf’s knowledge of steering. He and Athelhune, however, managed it cleverly, and the sea passed under the boat with a seething rush, raising her head high in air.
“The difficulty is in this snow, we can’t see breakers ahead,” grumbled Ceolwulf. “Go forward, Malachi, and keep a sharp look-out. Sing out the moment thou seest any land.”
Malachi did as he was told, and peered anxiously into the grey veil ahead; but he could see nothing, only tumbling waves rising and falling, leaping up like grey shadows, and disappearing in the misty gloom.
Suddenly Malachi felt the boat give a violent lurch, followed by a dizzy rush, and he found himself in water nearly up to his waist. What was it? What had happened?
The oar had broken, and the boat had come round into the trough of the sea, and was in imminent danger of being rolled over or swamped.
All were now aroused, for most were lying in the water, which half filled the boat. However, Ceolwulf had seized another oar the moment the catastrophe happened, and with great quickness had brought her round to the course she was running, and then directed the men to bail the water out.
Once more they rushed wildly on; while poor brother Malachi, murmuring “De profundis clamavi ad te, Domine,” drenched to the skin, gazed out into the darkness.
For the next quarter of an hour or so nothing disturbed the monotony of the rushing waters, the creaking mast, the occasionally flapping sail as the boat sank into the trough of the sea, or the whistling of the wind; everything in the boat was getting covered with a white pall, and the discomfort of all was great.
Suddenly Malachi shouted out:
“Land! land! right ahead. I see——”
But his words were lost in a wild crash, that hurled Ceolwulf and Athelhune into the bottom of the boat, and pitched poor Malachi head over heels overboard.