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Devon Boys: A Tale of the North Shore, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 19. A Friend In Need |
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_ CHAPTER NINETEEN. A FRIEND IN NEED I suppose it was an uneasy movement made by Bob Chowne that awoke me, and as I started away, and looked round at the darkness, and felt the motion of the boat, I trembled, and could not for the time make out where I was, or what all this peculiar sensation of cramped stiffness meant. The stars were shining, and twinkling reflections flashed from the water; the boat rocked to and fro, and the cold was horrible. This feeling of bitter cold or else the stupefied sensation brought on by exhaustion seemed to keep me from thinking, and it was a long time before I quite realised the truth. Then I wanted to wake up Bigley and Bob Chowne, to get them to start rowing again, for the sea had gone down, there was hardly a breath of wind; and, though I could see nothing, I felt that the land could not be very far away. I raised my hand to shake Bigley; but I did not, for the inclination was stronger to creep close up to him, and try to warm myself; and this I did, clinging closely to him and Bob Chowne; and then, as I crouched shivering and cramped in the bottom of the boat, I felt as if all the cold and darkness had suddenly sunk away and I was in oblivion. I don't know how long I slept, but I remember starting up again and wondering why the boat was moving so curiously, and then I found that I was being shaken, and a hoarse voice said: "Sep! Sep! Wake up." "What's matter?" I said drowsily. "It's dark and cold, and we'd better begin to row again. The sea has gone down." "Has it?" I said sleepily. "Never mind. It don't matter." "Yes, it does. Wake up. I want to talk to you." "No, no. Let me go--sleep," I said. "I sha'n't. Wake up. Let you and me row for a bit, and then we'll make Bob. Come along." Bigley half pushed me over the thwart to that in front, and placed the oar in my hands; then, taking the other, he thrust it in the rowlocks, and asked me if I was ready. "Ready? No," I said angrily. "I want to lie down and sleep. I'm so cold. Let me lie down." "But you can't," he said. "Now, then, let's row. It will warm you." "But where are we to row?" I said dolefully, and with a curious sense of not caring what happened now. "I'll show you. Look!" he cried, "you can see the north star." "Bother the north star!" I grumbled. "I don't want to see the north star." "But if we keep staring straight up at that as we go, we are sure to reach our shore--somewhere." I yawned and shivered. "Must we row, Bigley, old fellow?" I said dolefully. "Yes. Now, then. Both together." I let my oar fall in the water with a splash, and then began to pull, feeling dreadfully stiff and cold, and aching so that I could hardly use my arms. "Pull away!" cried Bigley; and I did pull away, making an angry snatch at the water each time, for I was in pain and misery; but in a short time the stiffness wore off, the aching was not so bad, and, to my great delight, a curious sensation of glow began to run through me, and I was beginning to feel comfortable, when Bigley exclaimed: "In oars! I'm going to wake up Bob." He leaned forward and shook Bob, who resented it by kicking, and then throwing out a fist which struck the side of the boat a sharp rap. "Bob! Bob Chowne! Wake up!" cried Bigley taking him by both shoulders and shaking him. Bob hit out again, striking Bigley this time viciously in the chest, and the result was another sharp shake, for Bigley seemed disposed to take up his father's tone again. "What is it?" whimpered Bob. "I am so precious cold. Let me alone, will you?" "Just you get on that thwart and row, will you?" cried Bigley in a deep fierce growl; and Bob slowly, and with many a groan and sigh, took his place, and began to row straight away into the darkness. It was a wise thing to do, for it made us warmer, tired as we grew, and so we kept on change and change about for quite an hour, when I saw something which made me shout. "We're close home; there's the light." Bigley looked out in the direction I pointed, and watched for a minute before he spoke. "No," he said; "it's moving. It's a light on board a ship." It was out of our course, but it seemed the wisest thing to do; and with visions of dry warm blankets, and something hot to drink, we tugged away at our oars, but never seemed to get a bit nearer to the light, which kept disappearing and then coming into sight again, looking if anything smaller than before. How long the time seemed, and how bitterly cold it was! By degrees our clothes seemed to be not quite so heavy and wet; but, though I could get my arms and hands warmed, my legs and feet seemed to have lost all their feeling, no matter what I did to bring it back. It was still dark all around, though overhead the sky now sparkled with points of light, one of which that we kept seeing in the distance might very well have been on the shore, only that we felt sure that we saw it move. And so hour after hour we tugged away at the oars, changing about, and the one who was off lying down to go to sleep directly in spite of the wet and cold, for sheer exhaustion was stronger than either. At last the whole affair seemed to grow misty and dreamlike, and I was only in a half-conscious state, when all at once I noted that the sky looked pale and grey behind us, and this showed that we were rowing to the west. But for a long time there was nothing but that pale grey look in the sky to indicate that morning was coming; indeed, once, or twice as it became cloudy, it seemed to be darker. By degrees, though, out of the dull drowsy, weary confusion of that bitter night the day did begin to dawn; and in a hopeless way we tried to make out how far we were from the shore. But for a long time we could distinguish nothing but what seemed to be high hills, having long missed the stars now on account of the clouds. Then we thought these must be clouds too, for it seemed impossible that it could be land, and both Bigley and I said so to Bob. But he was sulky and dejected, and would not take any notice of us, treating us both as if it was all our fault that we had been driven out to sea, though we were quite as miserable as he; and at any moment I felt ready to throw myself down in the bottom of the boat and give up. At last, though, as there comes an end to all dismal nights, this also had its finish, and we made out, as we lay on the cold grey sea of that fine winter morning, that we were about five miles from the Welsh coast, and home lay as near as we could tell right beyond the range of our vision, far away to the south-east. "What's to be done?" Bob said dolefully. "Hadn't we better row ashore here, and ask for something to eat?" Big said _No_, decidedly, for he had caught sight of a good-sized vessel some miles away to the south-east. "If we get ashore here we shall be farther away from home," he argued; "and I've heard my father say there's sharp currents about this coast, which would be too much for us, and besides, father is sure to come out to look for us this morning, so let's try and get back." "And some ship is sure to see us, and give us something to eat," I said hopefully. "Come, Bob, rouse up. We shall get across all right." Setting the boat's head as nearly as we could guess toward the opposite shore, we began to row; and, though it was winter time, we were not long before we were pretty warm, and Bob Chowne unwillingly took his turn. But we made poor progress. Miles take a great deal of getting over with a small boat in the open sea at the best of times. So rowed as ours was by three weary hungry boys, as may be supposed, we did not make the best of way. We saw several vessels and tried to signal them, but no one took any notice of us till about midday, when a very large lugger that was beating across from the Devon shore began to bear down upon us, and before long, to our great joy, we were able to make out the figures looking over her bulwarks, one of whom waved something in answer to our frantic tossing up of our caps and holding a jacket on the blade of an oar. Then we set to work and rowed as hard as we could, making very little progress though, for wind and tide were against us. But the big lugger came rushing on, and we could see now that there were dark foreign-looking men on her deck. It did not matter to us, though, what they were, so long as they would take us on board, for we were starving and faint, and had long ago come to the conclusion that we should not be able to row across before dark, half the day being gone, and the night would come down very early seeing the time of year. Bigley and I were in ecstasies, and even Bob began to look a little more cheerful as the lugger came closer, and then rounded up with her head to the wind, and lay with her dark red sails flapping. We rowed up to her side, and a man threw us a rope. _ |
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