“Shame!” cried Amyas, hurling his sword far into the sea, “to lose my right, my right! when it was in my very grasp! Unmerciful!”
A crack which rent the sky, and made the granite ring and quiver; a bright world of flame, and then a blank of utter darkness, against which stood out, glowing red-hot every mast, and sail, and rock, and Salvation Yeo as he stood just in front of Amyas, the tiller in his hand. All red-hot, transfigured into fire; and behind, the black, black night.
. . . . . . .
A whisper, a rustling close beside him, and Brimblecombe’s voice said softly:
“Give him more wine, Will; his eyes are opening.”
“Hey day?” said Amyas, faintly, “not past the Shutter yet! How long she hangs in the wind!”
“We are long past the Shutter, Sir Amyas,” said Brimblecombe.
“Are you mad? Cannot I trust my own eyes?”
There was no answer for awhile.
“We are past the Shutter, indeed,” said Cary, very gently, “and lying in the cove at Lundy.”
“Will you tell me that that is not the Shutter, and that the Devil’s-limekiln, and that the cliff—that villain Spaniard only gone—and that Yeo is not standing here by me, and Cary there forward, and—why, by the by, where are you, Jack Brimblecombe, who were talking to me this minute?”
“Oh, Sir Amyas Leigh, dear Sir Amyas Leigh, blubbered poor Jack, “put out your hand, and feel where you are, and pray the Lord to forgive you for your wilfulness!”
A great trembling fell upon Amyas Leigh; half fearfully he put out his hand; he felt that he was in his hammock, with the deck beams close above his head. The vision which had been left upon his eye-balls vanished like a dream.
“What is this? I must be asleep? What has happened? Where am I?”
“In your cabin, Amyas,” said Cary.
“What? And where is Yeo?”
“Yeo is gone where he longed to go, and as he longed to go. The same flash which struck you down, struck him dead.”
“Dead? Lightning? Any more hurt? I must go and see. Why, what is this?” and Amyas passed his hand across his eyes. “It is all dark—dark, as I live!” And he passed his hand over his eyes again.
There was another dead silence. Amyas broke it.
“Oh, God!” shrieked the great proud sea-captain, “Oh, God, I am blind! blind! blind!” And writhing in his great horror, he called to Cary to kill him and put him out of his misery, and then wailed for his mother to come and help him, as if he had been a boy once more; while Brimblecombe and Cary, and the sailors who crowded round the cabin-door, wept as if they too had been boys once more.
Soon his fit of frenzy passed off, and he sank back exhausted.