Sylvia's Lovers

Sylvia heard the sound of the passionate rush and rebound of many

waters, like the shock of mighty guns, whenever the other sound of

the blustering gusty wind was lulled for an instant. She was more

quieted by this tempest of the elements than she would have been had

all nature seemed as still as she had imagined it to be while she

was yet in-doors and only saw a part of the serene sky.

She fixed on a certain point, in her own mind, which she would

reach, and then turn back again. It was where the outline of the

land curved inwards, dipping into a little bay. Here the field-path

she had hitherto followed descended somewhat abruptly to a cluster

of fishermen's cottages, hardly large enough to be called a village;

and then the narrow roadway wound up the rising ground till it again

reached the summit of the cliffs that stretched along the coast for

many and many a mile.

Sylvia said to herself that she would turn homewards when she

came within sight of this cove,--Headlington Cove, they called

it. All the way along she had met no one since she had left the

town, but just as she had got over the last stile, or ladder of

stepping-stones, into the field from which the path descended, she

came upon a number of people--quite a crowd, in fact; men moving

forward in a steady line, hauling at a rope, a chain, or something

of that kind; boys, children, and women holding babies in their

arms, as if all were fain to come out and partake in some general

interest.

They kept within a certain distance from the edge of the cliff, and

Sylvia, advancing a little, now saw the reason why. The great cable

the men held was attached to some part of a smack, which could now

be seen by her in the waters below, half dismantled, and all but a

wreck, yet with her deck covered with living men, as far as the

waning light would allow her to see. The vessel strained to get free

of the strong guiding cable; the tide was turning, the wind was

blowing off shore, and Sylvia knew without being told, that almost

parallel to this was a line of sunken rocks that had been fatal to

many a ship before now, if she had tried to take the inner channel

instead of keeping out to sea for miles, and then steering in

straight for Monkshaven port. And the ships that had been thus lost

had been in good plight and order compared to this vessel, which

seemed nothing but a hull without mast or sail.

By this time, the crowd--the fishermen from the hamlet down below,

with their wives and children--all had come but the bedridden--had

reached the place where Sylvia stood. The women, in a state of wild

excitement, rushed on, encouraging their husbands and sons by words,

even while they hindered them by actions; and, from time to time,

one of them would run to the edge of the cliff and shout out some

brave words of hope in her shrill voice to the crew on the deck

below. Whether these latter heard it or not, no one could tell; but

it seemed as if all human voice must be lost in the tempestuous stun

and tumult of wind and wave. It was generally a woman with a child

in her arms who so employed herself. As the strain upon the cable

became greater, and the ground on which they strove more uneven,

every hand was needed to hold and push, and all those women who were

unencumbered held by the dear rope on which so many lives were

depending. On they came, a long line of human beings, black against

the ruddy sunset sky. As they came near Sylvia, a woman cried out,-'Dunnot stand idle, lass, but houd on wi' us; there's many a bonny

life at stake, and many a mother's heart a-hangin' on this bit o'

hemp. Tak' houd, lass, and give a firm grip, and God remember thee

i' thy need.' Sylvia needed no second word; a place was made for her, and in an

instant more the rope was pulling against her hands till it seemed

as though she was holding fire in her bare palms. Never a one of

them thought of letting go for an instant, though when all was over

many of their hands were raw and bleeding. Some strong, experienced

fishermen passed a word along the line from time to time, giving

directions as to how it should be held according to varying

occasions; but few among the rest had breath or strength enough to

speak. The women and children that accompanied them ran on before,

breaking down the loose stone fences, so as to obviate delay or

hindrance; they talked continually, exhorting, encouraging,

explaining. From their many words and fragmentary sentences, Sylvia

learnt that the vessel was supposed to be a Newcastle smack sailing

from London, that had taken the dangerous inner channel to save

time, and had been caught in the storm, which she was too crazy to

withstand; and that if by some daring contrivance of the fishermen

who had first seen her the cable had not been got ashore, she would

have been cast upon the rocks before this, and 'all on board

perished'.