Roger Ingleton, Minor Part 19

"Don't be an a.s.s, Brandram. They are out in an open boat at sea."

The doctor jumped to his feet.

"By Jove!" he exclaimed.

"They went to the island this morning, and will have started back a quarter of an hour ago."

"They've caught it already, then," said the doctor. "Look!"

The horizon was lurid with clouds. Pulpit Island out at sea seemed, instead of three miles distant, to have come in to within a mile. The channel between, still gleaming in the sun, was struck by a bar of shadow which seemed like a scar on the surface. The two men, as they stood in the street looking seaward, could hear already the solemn hum through the breathless air, and feel the first cool whiff of the breeze on their faces, while at their feet there fell with a sudden plash a heavy drop of rain.

"Had they a sail?" asked the doctor.

"No."

"It's coming south-east. They will drive in this side of Sheep Head."

"That's what I thought. An awful coast, and not a boat there."

"Get the horse in the gig," said Dr Brandram, "while I put together what we are likely to want. Look sharp."

Armstrong wanted no encouragement to be expeditious, and had the trap at the door almost before the doctor had his pile of blankets, wraps, with brandy and other restoratives, ready to put in it. In the village they paused to buy a rope and to warn one or two stragglers of their errand.

Then in the gathering storm they drove hard towards Sheep Head.

There was no mistake about the gale now. The sky was black with clouds, and the rain and wind struck them simultaneously as they urged on. The warning hum had already risen to a roar, and the wave, as they raced, crest over crest, to the sh.o.r.e, hissed and seethed with a fury which could be heard a mile off.

Neither of the men spoke. Armstrong, with the reins in his hand, kept his eyes stolidly between the horse's ears. The doctor, more agitated, looked eagerly out across the sea.

At last, near the summit of the tall, angular headland, the gig came abruptly to a standstill. The horse was tied up, and the two men, scarcely able to keep their feet, staggered to the cliff edge. There for half an hour they lay, straining their eyes seaward, with the full fury of the blast on their faces. It was hopeless to expect to see anything, for the rain drove blindingly in their eyes, and, though scarcely five o'clock, the afternoon was almost as dark as evening.

"Could they possibly drive clear of the point?" asked the doctor.

"Not possibly, I think. Come down to the sh.o.r.e. We are no use here."

"Wait a bit; it seems to be getting lighter."

It was; but for a long time the glow served only to make the obscurity more visible. Presently, however, the rain paused for a moment, and enabled them to dear their eyes and look steadily ahead. Dr Brandram felt his arm suddenly gripped as his companion exclaimed hoa.r.s.ely--

"What's that?"

"Something red."

Sure enough there was a speck of red tossed about in the waves, now visible, now lost, now returning. It was all that could be seen, but it was enough for Mr Armstrong.

"It's the boat. She wore a red cloak. Come down, come down."

"No; stop till we see how they are driving. There's time enough."

As far as they could calculate, the boat (if boat it was) was being driven straight for Sheephaven Cove, under the cliff on which they stood--a furious, rugged sh.o.r.e--unless, indeed, a miracle should chance to pitch them into the deep, natural harbour that lay in between the low rocks and the headland.

"Come down," said Armstrong again.

From the sea-level nothing, not even the red speck, was discernible; and for a terrible five minutes they wondered, as they scrambled out on hands and knees to the outmost limit of the jutting rocks, whether, among the wild breakers, the little boat and its precious crew had not vanished for ever.

It was all they could do to struggle to their feet, and, clinging to the rocks, turn their faces seaward. A new paroxysm of the gale well-nigh dashed them backwards, and for a time prevented their seeing anything.

But in a minute or two it eased off enough to allow them to open their eyes.

"See--there--look out, look out," cried the doctor, pointing.

He was right. About a quarter of a mile away, buffeted like a cork on the water, was a boat, and in it something red.

"Stand up and wave; it's no use shouting," said Armstrong.

Taking advantage of a temporary lull, they stood and waved their coats above their heads. Whether they were seen or not, they could not tell.

No signal came in return; only the boat--as it seemed, stern-foremost-- drove on towards them.

"Hold on and get your rope ready," said the doctor.

"Will she clear the rocks or no?"

"We shall see. They've no oars out. Stay there while I wave again."

This time it was not in vain. There was a stir in the boat. The red cloak was seen to wave aloft, and a faint cry mingled with the storm.

"Hold on!" cried the doctor; "they see us, thank G.o.d. I'll go on waving."

Presently they could see one oar put out, in an attempt to steer the boat into the cove. But in a moment it was swept away, and she drove on as helplessly as before.

It seemed years while she gradually approached, stern-foremost, now seeming to lurch straight towards the fatal rocks, now to stand clear for the narrow channel. They could distinguish the four pa.s.sengers at last. She in red sat in the stern looking ahead, holding her little sister at her side. The two lads in the middle were baling out wildly, pausing every now and then to turn white faces landward, but returning at once to their task. And indeed the boat sat so low in the water that it was a miracle how she floated at all.

Armstrong stood up, his friend holding him, and waved his coil of rope above his head. The signal was read in a moment. The two girls retreated to the middle of the boat to make room for Roger in the stern.

On and on they came. For an instant it seemed as if nothing could save them, for an ugly cross wave hurled them straight towards the rocks.

But the next righted them as suddenly, lifting them high on its crest and das.h.i.+ng them headlong towards the one spot where help awaited them.

Before they rose again a deft cast from Armstrong had sent the rope across the bows within Roger's reach, while the doctor, with the other end lashed round his body, was running at full speed towards the calmer water of the cove.

For a moment the line hung slack, as a great back-wave lifted the boat on its crest and carried it seawards. But suddenly the strain came, carrying the two men on sh.o.r.e nearly off their feet, and grinding on the gunwale of the boat with a creak which could be heard even above the waves.

"Hold on now!" cried Armstrong, as a forward wave surged up behind the boat.

All obeyed but Roger, who, seeking to ease the strain, began to haul in on the rope. The wave tossed the boat up with a furious lurch, half swamping it as it did so, and flinging it down again headlong into the trough. When it rose once more the rope still held, and three of her pa.s.sengers were safe. But Roger was not to be seen.

With an exclamation which even the doctor, in the midst of his excitement, could hear, Armstrong flung himself blindly into the chaos of water. For a moment or two it seemed as if he had gone straight to his fate, for amid the foam and las.h.i.+ng spray they strained their eyes in vain for a glimpse either of him or his pupil.

Then he appeared high above their heads on the crest of a wave, striking out to where, for one instant, an upstretched arm and nothing more rose feebly from the water. The next moment, hurled thither as it seemed by the wave, he had reached it, and was battling for dear life with the surf that swept him back seaward.

By this time a few bystanders had ventured out on to the rocks, one of them with a rope, which, after three vain attempts, fell within reach of the exhausted pair. By its aid Armstrong piloted his senseless charge into the calmer water of the cove, and the whole party, a few moments later, were safe on _terra firma_.