For three weeks and better did the ‘Will-o’-the-Wisp’ lie off and on by the shoals. For three weeks the launch and shallop were day by day employed searching and dragging the reefs, but we found no treasure-wreck. The remains of the ship to which Bedloe had conducted[Pg 184] us were thoroughly searched, indeed the deck was altogether torn up, and some trifling amount of Dutch coin, with two good iron guns, and the small brass cannon were recovered, but we gained no richer prize. Day after day, even when the glare of the sun was at its fiercest, might our boats be seen floating along the channels of the reef, two men at either bow, leaning over the gunwale, so that their eyes were removed only an inch or so from the water: but, save coral and sand, they saw nought besides. Still I felt certain that the treasure lay upon the reefs, and we had many disputes as to the possibility of the dwarf having managed, by flinging certain fragments of rock, which we found upon the eastern edge of the shoal, and each of which was the nucleus of immense masses of clustering sea-weed, to hide the precious deposit from strange eyes. We all agreed that little or nothing of the ship could possibly be remaining; but, as it was likely that the treasure was shipped in strong boxes either of iron, or secured with that metal, it was quite possible that these lay in crevices of the rocks, their great weight mooring them, and that the dwarf employed his leisure time before our arrival in covering them with the sea-weed grown stones of which I spoke. But all these opinions were but idle wind. We knew not the truth. Some of the elder seamen would have it that the whole was the work of the devil; that the dwarf was a demon who haunted those lonely shelves to disturb and perplex poor mariners; and in the evening, when we sat upon deck smoking and drinking in the grateful twilight, many a dismal tale was rehearsed of phantoms of the sea, and particularly of the unearthly creatures whom many of the crew believed to dwell upon islands as yet unvisited by mariners, and who try to scare away the human intruders upon their domains.
However, we at length got heartily tired of our sojourn amid the reefs, and the more so as we began to fear that we might miss the rich ship from Carthagena. A council was therefore held, at which we all agreed that we had wasted too much time already, seeking for the dwarf’s[Pg 185] treasure, and that the sooner the ship’s head was turned to the southward the better. Accordingly, the next sunrise saw the boats hoisted up, our anchor safely catted at our bows, and the schooner running gaily upon her original course. We had rough weather and heavy seas ere we made the Samballas islands, to which we first intended to repair, and one stormy night I saw, for the first time, the appearance of that strange light which is sometimes seen on board ships at sea, and which the Spanish and Portuguese seamen know as the ‘corpus,’ or ‘corpus sant,’ and which our sailors sometimes call ‘Nell’s Beacon.’ The Spanish word seems to me to be clearly a corruption of ‘corpus sanctum’—the holy body—they tracing the light, which I believe to be nothing else than a mere harmless wandering meteor, to some religious or sacred origin. The night that the corpus sant appeared on board the Will-o’-the-Wisp was stormy and unsettled, the sky being piled with gloomy clouds, and the wind strong and gusty. I was sitting by the steersman, when, looking aloft, I saw something like a greenish-blue glare flickering along the weather end of the main cross-trees, just as if some one at a distance had been flashing a dark lantern through the rigging. I was rubbing my eyes, doubtful whether I had seen aright, when all at once the pale glimmer appeared, as it were, to become concentrated on one spot at the very end of the cross-trees, where it gleamed with a dim yet steady light, like a star.
The boatswain had the helm, and I pointed it out to him.
‘Nell’s Beacon,’ quoth he; ‘I know it well. When it burns high up in the rigging, then it is a good omen, and a sign of fair weather; but when it descends upon deck and moves to and fro then it is time for all who see it to bethink themselves of their sins.’
Meanwhile the other men of the watch having also observed the light, began to congratulate themselves thereupon, only expressing fears that it would descend to the deck, for which cause they watched it very anxiously.[Pg 186] Determined, however, to examine the thing minutely, I climbed up into the rigging, and although the boatswain tried to dissuade me, I got upon the cross-trees, and gazed upon the meteor as closely as I would do at the flame of a candle. The meteor surrounded the end of the spar upon which it appeared, gleaming with a sort of pale glow, which was not flame, but rather like the light produced by flame, sometimes having a very ghastly blue colour, like the blaze of burning spirits, and anon turning of a greenish tint. Although the wind blew strong, the corpus sant did not waver or flicker like a flame, and I passed my hand through and through it, without feeling inconvenience. During the time I remained aloft, the meteor was becoming more and more dim, and soon after I had descended to the deck it disappeared. The remainder of the watch we passed discoursing upon this phenomenon. Some of the sailors said it was a sort of sea glow-worm, and others that it was a jelly which shone; but neither of these opinions is correct. Upon asking what the Spanish and Portuguese sailors said of it, one Thomas Lomax, who had been twice a prisoner in a ship of the former nation, told us that the tradition of the Spaniards was to this effect:—
A Spanish bark once set sail from Cadiz, bound for Sicily. They had very calm weather, and they feared at last that their water would run short. All the crew, therefore, made vows to St. Antonio, and promised to place a silver candlestick upon his shrine if he would send them a prosperous breeze. The captain of the ship alone refused to join in their prayers, saying that St. Antonio could no more send them a wind than a pig could see it, and vowing that at all events if it were not so, the saint was a shabby fellow not to give poor sailors a breeze without their having to rob their wives and families to pay him for it. But day after day passed by, and the sails still hung in unwinking folds from the lateen yards, and the reflection of the ship could be seen in the sea as in a mirror. One evening, after a very hot day, the air felt even closer than usual, and the captain[Pg 187] told the men that he must reduce still further their allowance of water. That night, therefore, they redoubled their supplications to the saint, and the captain who, by-the-by, was a Frenchman, redoubled his abuse of him, swearing that St. Antonio could not muster as much wind as would blow out a candle, far less urge on a ship. The words had hardly been spoken when a great light shone upon the vessel, and, running to the stern, they all saw St. Antonio, with a halo round his head, coming walking upon the water towards them. At this they all fell upon their knees, and even the French captain grew pale, and his legs almost failed him. Meantime the saint walked upon the sea up to the stern, and placing his hand upon the taffrail of the ship, said—
‘This to confound thy unbelief, thou contemner of holy men and things!’
At the same giving the ship what appeared to be a slight push, but which flung her forward as if she had been a stone hurled from a sling. The saint having performed this feat, instantly vanished, and at the same moment a fearful storm, the like of which was never seen by man, suddenly arising, drove on the ship with the same rapidity as that which the hand of the saint had imparted to her. Meantime all the crew were on their knees praying to the Virgin to intercede for them with St. Antonio, and expecting nothing less than instant death. But the ship continued to drive with unearthly rapidity, although without injury, and beginning to take courage, they observed, on looking about, a bright light burning upon that part of the taffrail which the saint had touched with his hand. For three days and three nights the miraculous storm lasted. The ship flew through the water quicker than birds cleave the air, and the supernatural nature of the tempest was made still more evident by the fact that it was not general over the sea, but that within half a cable’s length from the ship the ocean and the air were either perfectly at rest, or a pleasant breeze was blowing, and vessels were sailing with a fair wind in the opposite direction to that in[Pg 188] which the saint-cursed ship was driven. Still, however, the mariners did not cease to importune St. Antonio for pardon, and the captain was loudest in his prayers, and most lavish in his vows. At length, at midnight on the third night, the light, which had never ceased to burn, suddenly moved from its place, and flitting to the mast, began to ascend it. As the meteor rose into the air, the fury of the storm lulled. The mariners, seeing this, fell upon their knees and put up loud thanksgivings. The light continued to rise until it glittered upon the highest point of the rigging, to wit, the end of the great lateen yard, where having remained steady for some time, it gave a sudden bright flash, and then soared into the air, until the gazers could distinguish it no longer amid the stars. The wind then fell as suddenly as it had risen, and the strained ship again floated tranquilly upon unbroken water. When the day dawned, the crew saw land barely a league a-head of them, and a fishing-boat coming off soon after, they learned that they were off Cape Epiphane in the island of Cyprus, having traversed, in an incredibly short space of time, almost the whole length of the Mediterranean sea. A pleasant breeze, however, soon sprang up from the east, and having obtained what water and stores they needed, they turned the ship’s head westward, and arrived without accident at their port in Sicily, where great honours were paid to the shrine of St. Antonio. From that time to this, say the mariners of Spain, the light which the touch of a holy body—a corpus sanctum—created, has never been extinguished, but floats over the ocean, appearing now as a warning of approaching death, anon as a harbinger of hope to mariners.
This was the Spanish tale of the Corpus Sant, and I now asked for the English legend of ‘Nell’s Beacon.’
‘Why,’ quoth the boatswain, ‘I never heard it told; but often I have heard it sung both afloat and ashore, in the taverns at Limehouse or Portsmouth Point, and aboard many a ship in many a sea.’ Thereupon, all the watch desiring to hear the song, the boatswain, in a very[Pg 189] coarse gruff voice, chanted the following stanzas, which, rude as they are, I put down just as I heard them:—
The Legend of ‘Nell’s Beacon.’
There are stormy seas do roll, Which the boldest well may dread, When the east wind whistles snell On the cliffs of Beachy Head. By that coast, tempest beaten, On the sea-weed clustered stones, Stout-hearted sailors many, Have laid their weary bones. From the sandy shores of Eastbourne, Nigh the rocks whereof I sing, Sailed a brave and lusty seaman, And his name was Richard King. He was captain of a trading sloop, Which voyaged unto the Seine, And ’twas Beachy Head he always made When he returned again. For there, from eve to dawning, A beacon always shone During the time, whate’er it was, That Richard King was gone. From the window of a cottage That beam came, ever bright, For there sat Nelly, Richard’s wife, And trimmed the lamp all night. She trimmed it, for she knew That her husband dear would gaze, When the white cliffs loomed a-head, For those love-enkindled rays; And when he saw them flicker, Through the darkness of the night, He would straightways cry right cheerily ‘There’s Nelly’s Beacon Light.’ But, ah! these long night watches, They paled poor Nelly’s cheek; Her eye was bright and fevered, But her step grew slow and weak. Her husband bent above her, And she looked up in his face— ‘I’m wearing fast away,’ quoth she; ‘I go unto my place.[Pg 190] But you are bound to sea, dear, To the stormy Spanish shore; Look, Richard, look upon your Nell, You ne’er may see her more! But watch when you return, dear, You will know that I am dead, If no light shines out to greet you From the top of Beachy Head. ‘Yet death shall never part us, For, if it lawful be, My soul shall fly to you, dear, Athwart the roaring sea; But not a ghastly sheeted corpse Shall I appal your sight, You will see an airy Beacon, And my soul will be the Light.’ The storm roared loud at midnight, With sleet, and wind, and rain; The struggling ship tossed wildly On the rocky coast of Spain: When suddenly the captain cried— ‘Oh God, my wife is dead!’ Upon the topmast gleamed a light— The Light of Beachy Head! Two score of years went slowly by, And again the storm-blast blew, Old Richard King, with long grey hair, Spake cheerily to the crew. ‘Oh look aloft, my gallant boys, There’s hope within our sight, A kindly spirit watches us— There’s Nelly’s Beacon Light!’ But as he spoke, the Beacon Came floating through the air, The captain knew the sign—he knelt In thanksgiving and prayer. The tempest swept him from the deck, But as he sunk like lead, Above his forehead shone the light Which gleamed from Beachy Head![Pg 191] And still in time of tempest Does Nelly’s Beacon burn, Sometimes it shines aloft to cheer, Sometimes alow to warn; But it reads us all this lesson— True love is never dead, The symbol shines on every sea That shone from Beachy Head!