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Devon Boys: A Tale of the North Shore, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 13. A Perilous Swim |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTEEN. A PERILOUS SWIM "I say, what shall we do?" cried Bob. "We must take off our clothes and swim for it," said Bigley. "No, no," I cried, for the idea was appalling. "Let's stay here." "What, and be swept off?" said Bob. "No; Bigley's right. We must swim for it. No, I see! There's your father's lugger, Big. Let them come and take us off." "They durstn't come in on account of the rocks," said Bigley slowly. "Then, let them send the boat. Let's hail them." "Yes, they might send the boat," said Bigley thoughtfully, "and they would if we could make them understand." "Shout," cried Bob. "What's the use when they're nearly two miles away." "'Tisn't so far, is it?" I said in an awe-stricken whisper. "Almost," he said. "The wind's against them, and they're beating up very slowly, and keeping off so as to run straight in when they get past the point. You see they don't want to go in at the Gap till it's high-water and the pebble bar is covered." "But they must hear us," cried Bob, "and send a boat to fetch us off. I don't know that I could swim so far as the shore, and we should have to undress and lose all our clothes. Here, ahoy! Boat--oh! Ahoy!" The sound died away in the vast space, but there was no movement aboard of the lugger, and after each had hailed in turn, and we had all shouted together, we looked at each other in despair. "Oh," cried Bob, "what a set of stupids we are! Only just now we went and got into trouble, and lost our nets and baskets, and now we've been and done it again. Here, Big, it's all your fault, what are we going to do?" Bigley looked to sea, and he looked to shore, and then down at the water, that kept lapping round the rock and rising and falling. The small blocks all about us had long been covered, and at its most quiescent times the sea was now within some three feet of the top, while as the waves swayed and heaved, they ran up at times nearly to where we stood. The peril did not seem very great, because we did not quite realise our position; but stood disputing as to which would be the better proceeding--to try and swim ashore, or to wait till we could attract the notice of those on board the boat. Several attempts were made to do the latter, for the stripping to swim with the loss of our clothes was not a course to be thought upon with equanimity; and though we shouted and waved handkerchiefs, the lugger pursued its slow way, and it was quite plain that we were not seen. Meanwhile the water was steadily rising up the sides of our little island rock, and our position was beginning to wear a more serious aspect. "We shall have to swim ashore, boys," said Bigley, speaking in a tone which seemed to indicate that he would rather do anything else. He looked towards the cliff as he spoke, and being so much taller than we, of course he had a much better view. "Oh!" he exclaimed, with a look of horror, "the tide is round both points, and we shall have to swim right along ever so far before we can land." "No, no," cried Bob, "let's swim straight in." "I tell you," cried Bigley, "if we do, we shall be drowned." "What nonsense!" cried Bob. "Why, we'd climb up the rocks." "There is not a place where you could climb," said Bigley gloomily. "I know every yard all along here, and there isn't a single spot where you could get up the cliff." "It's too far to swim," I said gloomily. "I know I can't go so far as that. Could you, Bob?" He shook his head. "Oh, yes, you could," cried Bigley excitedly. "It would be swimming with the stream, you know, and it would carry us along--I mean the tide would, and you've only got to think you could do it, and you would." Bob Chowne shook his head, and I began to feel chilled and oppressed by the task we had before us. "No, I couldn't swim so far," cried Bob suddenly. "It would take a strong man who could keep on for hours to do that." "I tell you that you could do it," cried Bigley, who seemed to be quite passionate now. "Don't talk like that, Bob, or you'll frighten Sep Duncan out of trying." "I'm not going to try," I said gloomily. "It would be no use. I could swim to the shore but not round the point." "What's the good of talking like that?" cried Bigley. "You both can swim it, and you must." "Why, I don't believe you could, Big," cried Bob in a whimpering tone. "I do," said the great fellow doggedly, "and I'm going to try, and so are you two fellows." "That we are not," we cried together. "Yes, you are, for it's our only chance, unless they see us from the boat. You'll have to try, for the water will be up and over here before long, and what will you do then?" "Drown, I s'pose," said Bob. "Nonsense!" cried Bigley, who astonished us by the eager business way he had put on. "Who's going to stand still and drown, when he can swim to a safe place? Here, let's try and get 'em to see us aboard the lugger," he cried. "All together! Let's wave our caps and handkerchiefs." We did all wave our caps and handkerchiefs, together and separately, but the boat went slowly on, as if there was no one in danger, and we turned and looked at each other in despair. "They must be asleep," said Bob angrily. "Oh, it's too bad." "No," said Bigley sadly. "They can't be asleep, because there's someone steering, and someone else attending to the sails when they go about. It's only because they cannot see us. The rocks and cliffs hide us from them." "Why, we can see them," said Bob bitterly. "Yes, because they are against the sky," I said. "We are against the cliff. Oh, look at that!" My schoolmates wanted no telling, for they were looking aghast at the way in which the water had washed up, and lapped over the edge of the rock upon which we stood. It fell directly, but it had risen high enough to show that in a few minutes it would sweep right to where we were, and in a few more completely cover the stone. At this Bigley began to wave his jacket frantically, but the boat still glided slowly on with its sail lit up by the sunshine, and the sea glittering as far as we could see. "It's of no use; we must swim," cried Bigley; but we neither of us stirred, though he began resolutely to take off his big shoes. We saw what he was doing, but our eyes were strained towards the boat, which was much nearer now, making a long reach in towards the land, and it seemed so strange that those on board should be calmly sitting there, while we were in such peril, looking longingly for a sign that we were seen. And still the water slowly rose, threatening several times, and then making a bold leap which carried it right over the stone, though it barely wetted our feet. As it came over, Bigley stooped down quickly and caught up his shoes and clothes to keep them dry, and it seemed very ridiculous to me that he should trouble himself about that, when in a few more minutes they must be afloat. Another wave and another came over us, and though I kept on waving my handkerchief at times, there seemed to be no hope of help from the lugger. So in a fit of despair, after a glance towards the shore, I began to follow Bigley's example and undress, feeling that it was forced upon me, and that I must make an effort and swim for my life. Bob Chowne stood with his forehead all wrinkled up watching me for a few minutes, and then he began to undress slowly; but a wave came and rose right up to our knees as it swept in, telling us plainly enough that before many minutes had passed we should be unable to stand there, and in frantic haste we tore off our garments, and followed Bigley's lead in tying them together in a bundle, in the faint hope of being able to take them in our teeth and carry them ashore. We were ready none too soon, for the tide rose rapidly, and it was evident that the time had come for our plunge. "I'll go first, boys, and you follow," cried Bigley. "Now, don't hurry, and try and keep together. I won't swim fast. Ready?" There was no answer. "Are you ready, I say? I want to give the word, and for us all to take the water together." Still neither of us answered; and we stood there, bundles in hand, unwilling to quit the firm rock on which we stood knee-deep, for the treacherous sea. "I say, boys! Are you ready!" cried Bigley again. Still there was no answer, and the reluctance to stir would have continued longer, but an unexpected termination was put to our indecision by a larger wave sweeping over us, and making Bob Chowne slip and stagger. He tried hard to recover himself, and we to catch him, but the wet rock was bad for the feet, or he placed his foot upon a piece of sea-weed. At all events over he went with a splash and disappeared. We two followed, bundles and all, and as Bob rose we were one on each side, and started swimming level with the shore so as to round the point between us and the western side of the Gap. Driven to it as we were, Bob Chowne and I forgot our dread and began to swim steadily and well; but we had not been in the water five minutes before I found that we had undertaken to do that which was impossible, and that we had quite forgotten all about this being a dangerous spot for bathing. I think we all discovered it about the same moment, but Bigley was the first to speak. "Be cool, boys, as the doctor says," he called out to us. "This is no use. We're not going with the tide, but fighting against it." "But the tide's coming in," I said. "Yes, underneath," cried Bigley; "but the top part of the water's running out like a mill-race, and we must go with it now. Follow me." There was no help for it. The tide carried us along into a tremendous current, caused by the meeting of two waters at the point formed by the ridge of rocks which ran down into the sea, and to my horror, as I swam steadily on, still holding to my bundle, I found that we were in a line with the cliff about which I had watched the gull flying, but that it was getting farther and farther away. It was all plain enough. We were well in the fierce current that ran off the point, and being carried straight out to sea. My first idea was to shout this to my companions; but I felt that if I did I should frighten them, and I knew well enough that as soon as anyone grew frightened when he was swimming the best half of his power had gone. It was a great thing to recollect, and I held my tongue. It was hard work, and something seemed to keep prompting me to shout the bad news, but somehow I mastered it, and instead of swimming faster made myself take my strokes more slowly, so as to save my breath. Bigley told me afterwards, and so did Bob Chowne, that they felt just the same, and would not shout for fear of frightening me, swimming steadily on, though where we did not know. "I say, how warm the water is!" cried Bigley; and we others said it was. Then I thought of something to say. We had each tied our clothes up as tightly as we could in our pocket-handkerchiefs, and so it was a long time before they were regularly saturated and heavy. "I say," I cried, "my bundle's just like a cork, and holds me up beautiful. How are yours?" Bob Chowne panted out that his was better, and to prove hew good and buoyant his was Bigley thrust it before him, and swam after it, giving it pushes as he went. All this took up our attention for a little while from the horror of our position, for a horrible position it was indeed. It was a glorious sunny day, and sea and sky were beautiful, but the fierce current that set off from the point was sweeping us rapidly away, and it was only a question of how long we could keep on swimming--a quarter of an hour, half an hour, an hour--and then first one and then another must sink, unless in our efforts to save the first weak one we all went down together, and the glittering sea flowed over our heads with only a few bubbles of air to show where we had been. We must have been swimming twenty minutes when Bigley uttered a shout, and looking up, Bob and I for the first time caught sight of a little dinghy coming towards us, and far beyond it the lugger lying with her sails flapping in the breeze. The boat was a long way off, but the man in it had evidently seen us, and was coming down to our help, and a thrill of exultation ran through me, as I struck out more vigorously to reach the haven of safety. The minute before we were all swimming steadily and well, but the sight of help coming seemed to have completely unnerved us, and in place of taking slow long regular strokes, and steady inspirations, with the sides of our heads well down in the water, we all quickened our strokes and strained our heads above the surface, while, as if moved by the same thought, we all together shouted "Boat!" "Ahoy!" came back from what seemed a terrible distance, and the feeling of fear I had begun to experience increased more and more. A couple of minutes earlier I had not thought about the distance I could swim, but had kept on swimming. Now I could think of nothing else but was it possible that I could keep on long enough for the boat to reach me; and, instead of steadily trying to decrease the distance, and so help the boatman, I began to make very bad progress indeed. "Hooray!" shouted Bigley just then. "Keep up, boys, and don't lose your bundles. It's father, and he'll soon pick us up." Bundles?--bundles? Where was my bundle? I dared not turn my head to look, but it was not by me, and I must have let it float away just when most excited by the coming of the boat, but I could say nothing then. "Steady!" shouted Bigley again, checking his own speed, for he had been getting ahead of us, and he waited till we were abreast of him, both swimming too heavily and fast. "Don't do that," he cried. "Go steady. Go--" He said no more, poor fellow, for the curious dread that unnerves people in the water, and robs them of the power and judgment that are their saving, seemed to have attacked him, and he began to swim in a more and more laboured fashion. His example affected us, and away went all coolness. We were all swimming, and the tide was carrying us along towards the boat, that seemed to be getting farther away instead of nearer to my dimming eyes. Then in my rapid splashing I struck up the water, and grew confused; and feeling all at once that I was regularly exhausted, I turned over on my back to float. It was an unlucky movement, for I did it hastily and with the consequence that my head went under. I inhaled a quantity of the stinging briny salt water, and raising my head as I choked and sputtered, I turned back again, struck out two or three times, and then began to beat the surface frantically like a dog which has been thrown into the water for the first time. I can remember no more of what occurred during the next few minutes, only that I was staring up at the sky through dazzling water-drops; then that all was dark, and then light again, and not light as it was before. Then it was once more dark, and then I was sitting in a boat half blind, shivering, and helpless, with the boat rocking about tremendously, and Bob Chowne over the side holding on to the gunwale with one hand, to my wrist with the other. It all seemed very wild and strange; but my senses were coming back fast, and in an indistinct manner I saw someone swimming and plashing the water about twenty yards from the boat. It was a man in a blue woollen shirt, and his head was bald and shining in the sun, as I saw it for a moment, and then, whoever it was, reared himself high as he could in the water, and then struck off and swam away from us out to sea. He did not go far, but stopped suddenly and shouted to us; and as he did so, I saw a gleam of something white, and then that he was holding someone's face above water. Devon Boys--by George Manville Fenn _ |
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