On their arrival at the chateau, the Countess, affecting more fatigue,
than she really felt, withdrew to her apartment, and the Count, with
his daughter and Henri, went to the supper-room, where they had not been
long, when they heard, in a pause of the gust, a firing of guns, which
the Count understanding to be signals of distress from some vessel in
the storm, went to a window, that opened towards the Mediterranean, to
observe further; but the sea was now involved in utter darkness, and
the loud howlings of the tempest had again overcome every other sound.
Blanche, remembering the bark, which she had before seen, now joined her
father, with trembling anxiety. In a few moments, the report of guns was
again borne along the wind, and as suddenly wafted away; a tremendous
burst of thunder followed, and, in the flash, that had preceded it, and
which seemed to quiver over the whole surface of the waters, a vessel
was discovered, tossing amidst the white foam of the waves at some
distance from the shore. Impenetrable darkness again involved the scene,
but soon a second flash shewed the bark, with one sail unfurled, driving
towards the coast. Blanche hung upon her father's arm, with looks full
of the agony of united terror and pity, which were unnecessary to
awaken the heart of the Count, who gazed upon the sea with a piteous
expression, and, perceiving, that no boat could live in the storm,
forbore to send one; but he gave orders to his people to carry torches
out upon the cliffs, hoping they might prove a kind of beacon to the
vessel, or, at least, warn the crew of the rocks they were approaching.
While Henri went out to direct on what part of the cliffs the lights
should appear, Blanche remained with her father, at the window,
catching, every now and then, as the lightnings flashed, a glimpse of
the vessel; and she soon saw, with reviving hope, the torches flaming
on the blackness of night, and, as they waved over the cliffs, casting a
red gleam on the gasping billows. When the firing of guns was repeated,
the torches were tossed high in the air, as if answering the signal, and
the firing was then redoubled; but, though the wind bore the sound away,
she fancied, as the lightnings glanced, that the vessel was much nearer
the shore. The Count's servants were now seen, running to and fro, on the rocks;
some venturing almost to the point of the crags, and bending over, held
out their torches fastened to long poles; while others, whose steps
could be traced only by the course of the lights, descended the steep
and dangerous path, that wound to the margin of the sea, and, with loud
halloos, hailed the mariners, whose shrill whistle, and then feeble
voices, were heard, at intervals, mingling with the storm. Sudden shouts
from the people on the rocks increased the anxiety of Blanche to an
almost intolerable degree: but her suspense, concerning the fate of the
mariners, was soon over, when Henri, running breathless into the room,
told that the vessel was anchored in the bay below, but in so shattered
a condition, that it was feared she would part before the crew could
disembark.