The wind increased. It now became obvious that the captain's predictions would be verified, and that it would blow a whole gale before morning. It was midnight, and gradually Captain Drew had been taking off canvas. The sea had begun to rise. The yacht was now close-reefed, but it had not been necessary to turn up the whole crew. The wind had come on so gradually that the watch had been able to make the necessary reductions. Captain Drew was a considerate man, and never gave any unnecessary hardship to his men.
In the dim light of a moonless June night the sea looked dreary and forlorn. Although the wind was high, and round the rigging and the spars it seemed secret and furtive, it appeared to cling closely to the water, to leave the hollows between the waves stealthily, and to leave them only when goaded forward by something behind. Then it leaped the crests of the waves swiftly, and flung itself in the hollows once more.
The water looked cold and pallid. From the heavy swash at the bows, to the almost human murmur of the back-water under the counter, there ran all along the side a gamut of depressing sounds, into which every now and then ran the swirl of spray, mounting from the bow and falling with a groan on the deck, to run aft in whispered hisses, until it found its way to scupper-holes, whence it fell with a weary drone into the sea to leeward.
Captain Drew was not, for a sailor, a very superstitious man. But in the atmosphere of this night there was something which daunted him. The mere fact that a flaw should have been found in a vital part of the yacht, and that this flaw had never been discovered until it was, under existing circumstances, past effectual cure, was depressing. But then again there was the sustaining fact that this yacht, which he had sailed for years, was now practically his own property. He was now, in effect, five to six thousand pounds a richer man than when that day had broken.
How was he to regard that rudder-head? As a friend or an enemy? If it had not been for the defect in the rudder, the Duke would, in all probability, not have thought of getting rid of theSeabird; and if he had not thought of getting rid of her, it would never have occurred to him to give her to his captain. If the rudder-head held until they got back to Silver Bay, it would undoubtedly be the best friend, after the Duke, he had ever had in all his life. But if the rudder-head gave, what then? No one could tell. They might be driven ashore and all lost, or they might be able to live through the gale, and be picked up by some steamer or sailing-vessel, which would stand by them until a tug or some other kind of succour could reach them. Of course, if the rudder gave, they could do something with a few spars towed behind them, but not much. It was better to keep on hoping the rudder-head would hold.
It was now more than four hours since the Duke and the Marquis had gone below, and these four hours had settled one thing. There was no longer any chance of their putting in anywhere. Silver Bay was now the nearest harbour. The watch had been changed, and a second new hand was now at the wheel.
"Does she answer well, Jefferson?" asked the captain.
"As well as ever, sir," answered the man at the wheel.
By this time every man aboard knew what had happened, and the means which had been taken to meet the emergency.
The captain had slung the lantern on a belaying-pin on the weather side, abreast the companion. He unslung the lantern, and once more went aft and turned the bull's eye full on the rudder head.
He could notice no alteration. The iron looked taut, the wedges looked unchanged, the helmsman found the wheel worked as well as ever. And yet all this time there was creeping up at an infinitesimal rate, from the inner side of the rudder-iron, that which would be sufficient to dash all Captain Drew's hopes to the ground.
As he gazed at the rudder he thought:
"If the Duke does give her to me when we get into the bay, I'll let her swing there at anchor until I get a new rudder into her. She shall have the best rudder they can make for her at Izleworth. It will cost fifteen--ay, maybe twenty--pounds. It ought not to cost more than twenty pounds. But cost what it may, she shall have the best. Whatever the ship-carpenter asks he shall have. I will not cheapen him a penny. If he says five-and-twenty pounds, he shall have five-and-twenty pounds. You must not look a gift horse in the mouth, and I won't haggle over a few pounds to make the craft I sailed so long, and that now is going to bring me a fortune, shipshape and seaworthy. She doesn't want anything else. We never knew anything she wanted that she didn't get. Not likely, with such an owner as the Duke, God bless him!
"Ay, it's a fortune, and a large fortune, too, for a man like me. The most I ever had any reason to hope for was a few hundreds in the will of the Duke; and here now it has come to thousands all at once, and with the Duke alive and friendly to me yet, and promising me a new ship, and giving me the old one."
He bent forward and felt round the rudder-head carefully, tenderly, as though it were sensitive. Then he rose, hung up the lantern on the belaying-pin, and resumed his walk. His thoughts went on:
"I will run no risk with her. A plank or beam or stanchion may get dozed any time. It is likely everything else in theSeabirdis as sound as a bell. But this matter of the rudder-head is a warning. I'll never take her to sea again at my own risk. I'll sell her in the bay, and will take good care I have the money in my pocket before she goes to sea again. How do I know but that the mainmast may be gone, or the sternpost? No, no. It won't do to throw away a chance like this. Not twice in a lifetime does a man in my position meet with a chance like this. It will not do to throw away a chance like this."
He filled and lit another pipe, and continued his walk.
It was now grey dawn, and the wind continued still to increase. Captain Drew was in no way uneasy about the wind or the sea. She was equal to it all, and much more, if the rudder-head only held. Although the wind had now double the force it had when he ordered in the flying-jib and ordered down the gaff-topsails, so skilfully had sail been reduced, and so free from anything like squall had been the gale, that she had never been more than a plank or two under to leeward. Water was now coming over the weather-side in bucketfals; and now and then the schooner plunged her nose under a big sea, and washed her decks fore and aft.
It was a dismal daybreak. The sky was all overcast with low-flying grey clouds, the sea a tangled maze of irregular billows. As day advanced there was no encouraging element in the scene. No land, no vessel, was in sight. All looked void and purposeless. The water and the air were given up to the tempest, and the schooner seemed an impertinence the presence of which air and water resented with deadly hatred.
Still, dreary as the dawn. Captain Drew preferred it to the night. He kept the deck. He was resolved to carry out his determination of not going below until theSeabirdwas safely at anchor in Silver Bay. It was now between two and three, and, if all went well, and all had been going well, he might, in reason, hope to be in smooth water in less than a dozen hours.
Every half hour, as morning grew into day, he paused and examined that rudder-head. It held admirably to all appearances. He could discover no sign of any weakness, of any working, of any giving out. He rubbed his hands once more in satisfaction. He now felt assured the rudder would last until they had reached security. Of course there was no great strain on the steering-gear. It was not as if they had been tacking up a narrow river, where they had to come about every few minutes. A couple of spokes to port now, a couple of spokes to starboard at another moment, sufficed to keep her on her course. He should not have to put any strain on the tiller until they ported to enter the bay; that was, of course, provided they did not encounter very much worse weather or the danger of a collision. As soon as he saw anything he would be able to tell better how they were, but he calculated that they would fetch Silver Bay on this reach without changing the course a point; and he ought to know if anyone did, for it was not the first nor the fiftieth northeast wind he had run away on in this same yachtSeabird.
When he was getting that new rudder made, there was one thing he would be certain not to have like the old one: there should be no sacrifice of strength to appearance. If there were to be interior angles, there should be exterior angles also.
All this while the silent invisible foe was slowly, but surely, working its way upwards.
At eight o'clock the Marquis came on deck, and was informed of the way in which the night had gone over, and that Captain Drew hoped to let go anchor in Silver Bay at about two o'clock that afternoon, if the wind kept steadily as it now was, and the sea did not get very much worse. The Duke did not come on deck. He feared to face the bitter air.
As the day grew the wind and sea rose considerably, until the gale became a storm, and theSeabirdhad not a single dry inch of deck. The rudder held bravely, although it now had to contend against hardships which the captain had not foreseen for it a couple of hours ago.
At noon they made out land under the port-bow; and by what Captain Drew could see he knew he was right in his calculation, and that the yacht would, on her present course, sail almost into the bay.
For miles and miles there was no other place of refuge but that bay. In such a storm it was a serious thing to have such a lee-shore, for at this part of the coast the land tends north-west, making a lee-shore for a north-east wind. Captain Drew would have felt no anxiety if no accident had happened; but in the face of a damaged rudder on a lee-shore such as this, and in such a storm, he felt very uneasy. If anything went at the rudder there would be no hope for the yacht, and little or none for any man aboard her.
The schooner was now able to show only a storm-jib and close-reefed scandalised mainsail to the storm.
At half-past one the foe, which had been so long invisible, came into sight, theSeabirdbeing then about three miles to the south-west of the entrance to Silver Bay.
At a quarter to two the carpenter, who had been ordered to watch the rudder-head, saw the foe, which had so long been working in darkness, and reported to the captain. The carpenter said to the captain:
"In the starboard side of the rudder-cap iron----"
"Yes."
"There's a crack."
"Good God! a crack? If that goes, we are all lost!"
"I think it's going fast, sir."
While the carpenter was telling this terrible news to the captain, on shore Cheyne was standing among a knot of fishermen watching the approaching yacht.
Gradually the group on the ledge of land hard by the cottages increased as the yacht drew nearer. A few women joined the men, and the talk about the yacht and its owner became general. Cheyne stood a little apart, within hearing, to leeward. The yacht was still half a league from the shore, heading for the bay.
"She has got as much as she wants now," said one of the men.
"Ay, and a trifle more."
"As fine a sea-boat as ever swam!"
"Ay, ay; but this is near as big a gale as ever blew."
"Oh! There's her keel from the bow to the foremast!"
"And there it is from the rudder to the main chains!"
"She'll pick up her moorings in a quarter of an hour."
"And I don't think anyone aboard will be sorry when she's in smooth water."
"Especially the Duke. For my part, I don't like even looking on, and I'd like it still less, but I know she's fit for it, and only plays with it. Fancy how an old collier would behave in a gale like that! It's very well the sea is no worse, or it might poop her."
"Poop her with that way on! You are a freshwater sailor, you are!"
"But suppose she made a stem board?"
"Or flew over the moon!"
"But if she carried away her mainsail she'd pay off, and then she might be pooped."
"If the sky fell, we'd catch larks. Get along with you, for a mud-pilot!"
"I daresay they're all on deck."
"Every soul of them. Why, who could stay below in a gale like that? Everything in her is jumping about like dice in a dice-box."
"They haven't a plate or a cup or a saucer left whole, I'll warrant."
"What odds about the cups and saucers, so long as the Duke--God bless him!--is safe."
"And the men."
"And the men too--and the men too!"
By this time theSeabirdwas within a few cables' length of the southern or cliff side of Silver Bay. She was now keeping a little more to windward than she absolutely wanted, and, according to a landsman's eye, it might seem Captain Drew meant to run his ship ashore about the middle of the reef. But when you have your vessel well in hand, and know all about her, being a little to windward of where you want to fetch is like having a fine unencumbered estate and a large balance at your banker's, after paying the last penny you can be called upon for.
"Time for him to port now," said one of the men on shore.
"Nice of a mud-pilot like you to teach Captain Drew how to bring theSeabirdinto Silver Bay! Why, if you were an admiral you'd teach the ships how to graze on the side of mountains, and the marines how to furl a t'gallant sail, you would!"
"Port!" cried Captain Drew. He was standing by the weather-bulwark, abreast of the companion. "Hard a port!" he added.
"Port!" cried Pritchard, who was again at the wheel, as being the best helmsman aboard. The wheel flew round. "Hard a port it is!" called out Pritchard mechanically. The wheel had gone round, and it ought to have ported the helm; but he knew very well it had not. It had spun round as though nothing had been attached to it. When the first few spokes had been put down, the wheel had suddenly run away in the direction he had been forcing it. He looked instantly behind him, sprang forward to where the captain stood, and whispered in a choked hoarse voice:
"She won't answer, sir. The cap-iron's gone!"
"All hands aft! Cut away mainsail!" sang out the captain.
One man sprang into the main-rigging, and went up upon the lee side hand-over-hand; one man sprang on the peak of the gaff, and scrambled up; two men got out on the boom; and in less than three minutes the mainsail had been cut adrift, and was rolled far away down to leeward.
"Your Grace," said the captain, "the rudder-head iron is gone, and I have ordered them to cut away the mainsail."
"Good God!" exclaimed the Duke, who had heard the order, and guessed that something had gone terribly wrong with the rudder head; "then we are lost!"
"She may pay off enough to fetch in," said the captain.
"She will not," said the Duke.
"She will not," thought the captain; but he held his peace.
By this time the men on shore had become aware something was wrong. They had seen the men spring aft, and cut away the mainsail. They had seen the man at the wheel leave it, and they had not seen him or any other man return to his place. From the fact of cutting away the mainsail, and leaving the wheel untended, they came to the conclusion some accident had befallen the steering-gear. For awhile there was nothing but startled looks and violent exclamations, which to Cheyne conveyed no clear idea beyond the fact that some kind of danger assailed the schooner.
The first word of definite import which Cheyne caught was spoken by a powerful-looking man of forty. He said:
"She'll never pay off fast enough! She'll be on the rocks in five minutes!"
This announcement was received by a low moan, which told too plainly that there was no gainsaying the words of the speaker.
Upon hearing these words, Cheyne moved up more closely to the group.
"Where will she come ashore?" he asked.
"On the reef, man!" answered a fisherman hotly; for no man who knows of such things likes to talk at such times.
Cheyne moved back to his old position, and fixed his eyes upon the doomed schooner.
The men and women assembled on the ledge of ground on the northern side of Silver Bay knew too well there was no lifeboat or rocket apparatus within fifteen miles, yet still there was no good in giving way to despair. The yacht was unmistakably going ashore in a few minutes on those rocks. There was little or no hope she could hold together there for anything like the time it would take to send word from Silverview to Bankleigh by horse, and from Bankleigh to the lifeboat station by telegraph, and then have the boat or apparatus round. Yet no chance, however slight, ought to be neglected; and accordingly, before another minute had elapsed, the swiftest man of the group was on his way at the top of his speed to the Castle, to give the alarm, and order the immediate despatch of the fleetest horse in the Duke's stables to Bankleigh.
Once more Cheyne drew near the group of men and women, and listened.
"What can be done when she strikes?" asked one of the women of one of the men.
"Nothing that we know of."
"Couldn't a boat go off to her?" asked the woman.
"No boat ever built could live in those breakers except a lifeboat."
"Could not a line be got to her?"
"How are you to get a line to her? We have no rocket or cannon here. There is no chance for them but to swim."
"Swim!" cried the woman, in terror. "How could anyone swim in that sea, and where would anyone swim to?"
"Hush!" said the man impressively, and for a minute all were mute.
The schooner plunged onward through the foam, for she was already in the white outwash from the shore and threw it madly from her bows. She was showing nothing to the wind but a storm-jib; and although she was paying off, she was paying off too slowly to give any grounds for hope. She had her anchors still, no doubt; but to let go her anchors under her nose in such a sea and with such a way on would be the wildest act of madness. They would drag her nose under or tear the bows out of her, capsize her the moment she broached to and came athwart the sea. Better the rocks than the anchors.
And those rocks looked terrible; huge spikes and feline teeth, over which mounted and broke the irregular billows, white with the sullen back-wash of former waves. When the wallowing billows flung themselves mercilessly upon the rocks, the white spray toiled slowly upward, like hopeless signals of distress.
The ill-fated yacht was now within a cable's length of destruction. There was nothing to be done but to hold on, await the end, and take advantage of everything in favour of one's life.
The men were all clinging to the fore-rigging at the weather-side. The two mates, the captain, the Marquis, and the Duke clung to the after-rigging on the same side. Absolutely nothing could be done. If there had been more time they might have tried the effect of more head-sail on her.
At length one huge wave seized her, flung her aloft, and threw her, as a giant might cast a mighty javelin, upon the rocks. There was a tremendous shock, a mighty crunching sound, an explosion like a cannon when the deck burst up in the waist, the scream of torn metal, the groan of yielding planks and timbers, the loud plunging swash of the water--all in a conflict of broken torrents hidden under a pall of blinding spray that rose over the wreck like smoke over the victim of a sacrifice.
"Her back is broken!" said one of the men on shore standing close to where Cheyne was.
When those on shore could see more clearly, they agreed that the vessel was of course a total wreck, but that the hopes of saving those on board were much better than they had any reason to hope for.
She had, it was true, broken her back; and as she had struck the rock about amidships, and her fore part was firmly wedged in between two rocks, and her after part hung over the ledge of rocks on which she lay, it was most likely the after half would very soon fall off. But it might be fairly counted that the fore part would last some time. The foremast still stood, but the jib had been blown away. No fisherman on the shore thought for a moment the fore part of theSeabirdcould possibly hold out until the arrival of the lifeboat; but five minutes ago the chances were the schooner would be in staves in ten minutes. Now half of her might be reckoned on to last an hour or two, and in an hour or two--well, there was less certainty of all of them being drowned than if she went to pieces in five minutes.
The two mates, the captain, the Marquis, and the Duke had all gone forward and secured themselves to the weather fore-rigging.
Before many minutes had elapsed, the yacht broke in two, the after part settling down in deep water.
In some respects the position in which lay all now above water of theSeabirdwas favourable to those on board. When she struck she had had a heavy list to port. As she had struck, so she settled down with a strong list to port. Thus her high shoulder was against the weather, and every sea did not sweep her deck. It so happened that the weather-side of the fore-rigging was in the lee of one of the rocks between which she was jambed. Thus the heavy broadside wash of the water did not reach the men, but only the thick spray of waves which broke on the sea-face of that rock, and the spray of the waves that struck her aft.
There was no chance whatever of landing on these rocks. They were almost perpendicular, tapering so as to yield no hold for the foot or hand, and at their bases was deep water surging tumultuously up and down.
Once in the unsheltered water on the outer face of that reef, nothing could save a man in such a gale and sea. His arms, his ribs, his head, would be smashed against those pitiless fangs of grey smooth stone. These teethlike rocks rested on an irregular bed of flatter rocks; but this bed was visible only at low water, and the tide would now be at its greatest height in an hour, or, taking the wind into consideration, an hour and three-quarters.
Three of the crew were natives of the little hamlet, and their wives were spectators of their husbands' danger.
"For God's sake, men, can't you do anything?"
"Anything!" repeated a man sadly, pointing his arm to the sheer inner wall of the reef. "What could mortal man do there?"
The inner side of the reef differed from the outer one in being much more regular and straight. It was a wall of low spires, with here and there an opening down to the water, through which the foam-mantled sea shot shafts of hissing water. No human hand or foot could rest upon any part of that inner wall now in view. Nothing grew or lived on the shoreward side of that reef; not weed or barnacle or mussel. There was nothing to rest on, nothing to cling to, nothing but the cold clean side of the pitiless grey stone.
"Can nothing be done? Can nothing be done?" asked the woman, wringing her hands helplessly. "Are my babies to be orphans, while you all stand idle there? If you can't do anything to save the men, you might in all decency turn your backs, and not let them see you with your hands in your pockets in front of their own doors, while they are drowning under your very eyes!"
The men drew aside from where the women stood, and held a brief council.
Meanwhile Cheyne hardly moved. He was sheltered from the full violence of the wind, but now and then a gust burst in upon him, striking him full in front. He could see all the figures on the deck, and he had heard the people say that the undersized man, with the fur-cap tied over his ears, was the great Duke, and the tall lank man behind him was the Marquis of Southwold. His thoughts ran:
What an extraordinary thing fate was! Here was he, as it were by a mere accident, awaiting the arrival of that yacht which for years had sought and found safety in this harbour, and, by an extraordinary coincidence, that yacht would never enter this harbour again.
For the first time in all his life he had formed the design of committing fatal violence upon a fellow human being, and here was that human being withheld from the sphere of his vengeance by an appalling disaster! Was this man to be snatched from his clutches now that he was in sight? Was there no means of rescuing this crew? There was a double source of regret in seeing those men helpless on the vessel, and these men helpless here. It was a pity to see the good and useful lives of the sailors in danger; and it was a pity that, after all, this man was about to escape his natural and most just vengeance.
After a somewhat lengthened council, the knot of fishermen broke up. It was plain they had come to the decision of making some effort on behalf of the unfortunate men in peril. Two men went immediately towards the cottages; each one entered his own. The man who came out first carried a long coil of light line, and when the other man, whose name was Bence, appeared, he had nothing on but his underclothing.
"Bravo, Bence!" cried the men, with a cheer.
They made the line fast round his waist, and in another moment he had plunged into the sea.
The dangers and difficulties he faced were enormous. Although to the mind of a sailor the water inside the reef was smooth water, to a landsman it seemed tempested. No open boat could possibly swim in it, for the cross-swells and huge choppings formed by the rush of water through the long narrow slits between the rocks would swamp any ordinary small boat, such as those at the command of the fishermen. Besides, the fierce wind bursting through the clefts would almost blow a small boat out of the water. The anchorage for the yacht and the fishing-boats was not close in under the reef, but some way inland in the bay, where, in case of storms, the sea became regular once more, and any decked vessel might roll lazily to and fro in security through the strongest north-east wind that ever blew.
The swimmer had to contend with a great number of discouraging circumstances. The only thing in his favour being that the water was not very cold. It was his interest to keep as close as possible to the rocks, for ultimately he had to try and force his way through one of the openings between them. How this was to be done, no man there could tell. A man could only try and fail, and be pulled ashore, dead or alive, if he failed.
The first of these narrow openings he met he passed without any disagreeable experience. But just as he got under the second one the creamy foam-mantled water wedges dashed through it, and, striking him, turned him round and round in the water, and drove him a long way out of his course.
He recovered himself quickly, and was soon swimming obliquely for the reef again.
He had not got more than five times his own length when he encountered the spent torrent from another opening. This did not turn him over, but it drove him still farther away from the reef.
Another difficulty now was added. Every time a wave burst through one of those openings, the torrent from it caught the line and drew Bence away from his right course. He felt this tug him, pluck him from the straight course, and, although he was not discouraged, he knew the disappointment of men not full of resources when, in moments of anxious endeavour, they meet obstacles they are not prepared for.
However, he set his heart manfully to the work, and still kept on obliquely for the reef. But he gained no ground. He rather lost. Six of these openings had to be passed, and three out of the six had delivered the spent force of their torrents against him.
As he got farther and farther from the shore, he had a longer line to drag through the water, and a greater quantity of the line became exposed to the disturbing influence of the currents. So that when he came opposite the seventh opening, the one through which he should pass with the rope, he was many hundred yards to leeward and a good deal spent. The original line had been run out long ago, and other lines had been bent on. But now, when he turned about to swim straight for the goal, or rather for the rock at the northern side of the opening he desired to gain, for it was essential he should keep in the slack water, he had a great weight of line to drag through the water and against those six adverse currents.
But Bence had a big heart and a good cause, and he knew his mates on shore were watching him with pride as he tried to fight the wind and tide in the interest of humanity. Bence was a hero, not a fool; and although he had, from motives of pure humanity, volunteered to try and carry the line to what remained visible of theSeabird, he did not hide from himself that one of the richest men in England was on board that wreck, and that if he were the means of saving that man's life he might look on his fortune as made.
He swam with all his might, but made little or no progress. Now and then he looked over his shoulder at some mark on the shore, to find he was not making more way than a third of what he had counted upon. Into every stroke he put all his skill and all his vigour. He began to wonder whether his strength would last until he reached the reef. Even if he had strength enough to reach the reef and then found himself with no reserve he could do nothing, for the work to be done on the reef itself was almost as arduous as that to be done in the water. The perilous passage through the rock had to be forced--a thing never before attempted--before those on board could throw him a rope.
With the dogged determination to fight out to the last, he swam on. He had arranged before leaving that when he threw up his right hand those on shore were to haul in; when he did that he had been vanquished. At length, after, a desperate struggle, he reached the reef, and paused here a moment to rest, treading the water in the shelter of a rock where there was a slight backwater. But the backwater acting on his body was not enough to overcome the strain of the water on the line, and he found himself losing ground slowly. This ground had been too dearly won to be lightly lost now. The moment had arrived for the supreme effort. He must force that passage at once, or give up all hope of success.
Having pulled in some of the slack of the rope by a few vigorous strokes, and waited until the water of a wave swept past him, he fronted the opening.
The opening was little more than wide enough to admit a man. He was nearly spent, and owing to the narrowness of the passage, he was obliged to change the ordinary arm-stroke for "dog-fashion," and this caused him a loss. But then, when he could touch the rocks, although they were as smooth as polished marble, he was able to get a purchase on them, and force himself forward more successfully than if he had been swimming in the ordinary way in ordinary water.
But when he looked up to the cleft through which he had to make his way, his spirit failed him. It was at least fifty feet long and as straight as a gun barrel. At the exterior mouth it was wider than at the interior. Hence, as the water rushed through, it would gain in force and height. Who could withstand such a rush of water? Who, so spent as he, could hope to stem the fierce fury of that on-rush of the wave?
These thoughts passed almost instantaneously through his mind. He had made only four strokes after entering the cleft when he heard the next wave burst upon the beach, and saw the hoary head of the bore rushing down upon him.
He prepared to dive. But the fierce waters struck his head and shoulders before he was under water, and threw him upright in the water, turned him over on his back and shot him head foremost from the cleft into the open water beyond. Then the torrent turned him over and over until he was half stunned, and when at last he came to the surface, he had only enough strength and consciousness to hold up his arm, the signal of recall.
The men on shore pulled the line with a will; and in a short time Bence, the best swimmer of the village, was drawn ashore, defeated, insensible.
"Send for a doctor at once," said Cheyne, in a quiet tone.
The people, to whom by this time had been added many servants from the Castle, stared at the stranger in unpleasant surprise. Who was he that should give orders to them when their own lord and master, their husbands and their brothers, were in danger?
Cheyne spoke with the easy confidence of one who knew he would be obeyed.
"Groom," he continued, "take a dog-cart, and don't spare the horse. Bring back a doctor with you. Mind, not the best, but the nearest! We shall have other cases presently." And he pointed towards the yacht.
"Not a soul will come ashore alive out of her," said one of the fishermen.
"How long will it take you to go and come?" asked Cheyne of the groom.
"An hour," said the groom.
"Don't be any longer. By that time there will be work for him."
The groom hesitated a moment.
Cheyne nodded a dismissal to him, turned his back upon him, threw down his hat, and began undressing.
The men drew closer, until they made a ring round him.
He spoke in his former tone of easy confidence.
"Let the men take that anchor there up to the knoll, dig a hole for the fluke, and back it up with a grapnel--two claws buried."
"Why, sir," said one of the men doubtingly, "what are you going to do?"
"When the whip comes ashore, make it fast to the ring of that anchor, and make the hawser, when it comes ashore, fast to the same ring. I can see nothing else that will do. We'll manage the rest aboard. When all is fast, you will haul the men ashore one by one in a basket. Now there, look alive! Make that line fast round my waist."
"But it would be murder to let you go when Bence has failed."
"By ----, if any man tries to let me in this, there will be murder! Do you hear?" he roared at the top of his voice, as he drew himself up like a lion at bay, and shook himself ominously. It was a startling oath, a startling transition of tone and manner from the tone and manner of a moment before.
"Give me the line," he cried, "you palsied idiots! Give me the line and half a pound of sheet-lead!"
The man who held the line handed it to him mechanically.
One of the women whose husband was in the yacht ran to her cottage and returned, in a few seconds, with a long narrow strip of sheet-lead, such as fishermen use for making net-sinkers.
"How far below the present level of the water is there rock in those open places?" Cheyne asked, as he made the line fast round his waist.
"Two fathom," answered one of the men.
The men were by this time fairly taken aback and submissive.
Cheyne measured off three fathoms on the line from the place where the line was made fast to his waist, and rapidly rolled on the line a piece of sheet-lead weighing more than half a pound. This he tightened on the line by biting it hard, ascertained that the lead would not slip easily, walked over to the edge of the little quay, and, having told the men who tended the line to pay out freely--in fact, never check it--he dived into the turbulent sea.
Cheyne had been a careful and intelligent spectator of Bence's failure, and he had learnt two of the great causes of it.
In the first place he had seen that Bence swam at such a distance from the openings as not to receive the full force of the bore, but at the same time to be very much thrown out of his course by the spent water.
In the second place he had noticed that at least half Bence's difficulty arose from the rope he towed getting into these currents, and dragging him still more out of his course.
In both these cases were precious time and enormous labour thrown away. It occurred to Cheyne that both sources of loss could be easily avoided. If the swimmer kept under the absolute shelter of the rocks, close to them as possible where there was a slight backwater, and waited to swim across the open spaces until all the force of the wave had been spent, and the water in front of the opening was still, he would avoid any loss of way owing to the former cause in Bence's case.
If, instead of towing a long slack line after him, he could manage so as to cause the line to sink almost perpendicularly from his waist to a depth below the influence of the water rushing through these openings, then the line, if allowed to run freely out at the shore end, would lie straight behind the swimmer.
Now that he was in the water he struck out for the reef, keeping as close to the northern shore as possible, in order to avoid any direct influence of the currents from the reef, and in order to get the advantage of the backwater, if there should happen to be any.
When he reached the reef he swam in under the rock, and there awaited the bore. As soon as the water had subsided he made a few vigorous strokes, and crossed the opening without losing a foot of ground. Adopting the same plan at the next opening, he passed it with equal success.
"He knows how to go about it," said one of the men on the shore.
"And he's a powerful swimmer."
"He'll be as fresh as a daisy when he gets to number seven."
"Ay, but how is he to get through number seven?" asked Bence, who had by this time been restored to consciousness, and comforted with warm dry clothes and brandy.
"Leave it to him. When a man makes a good beginning like that, it isn't for any one to doubt him until he shows that he's beat. That's what I say."
"And what I say," retorted Bence, "is, that no one who has not been in one of the guts does not know what they are."
"Well, we sha'n't be much longer in doubt; he's at number seven now."
From the time Cheyne left the shore, he had not, owing to his keeping so close to the rocks, been able to see even the topmast of theSeabird.
He paused under the last rock for awhile--not to rest himself, for he felt no fatigue, but to consider what he should do.
He first of all resolved to look into the opening. He waited until the water had rushed through, then swam in front of it, and looked in. He was a much bigger man than Bence, and the first thought which occurred to him was, could he squeeze himself through? At a mere glance it appeared as if he could not; but upon a closer examination and reflection, he came to the conclusion that the passage was at least four feet wide, and almost of a uniform width. He waited to see the bore coming, and then, with a few vigorous strokes, put himself once more under the shelter of the rock.
Owing to his enormous chest capacity, Cheyne swam very high, and in sea-water he could move about with almost as much ease as on land. In the deep water under the rocks the sinker on the line, even if it hung perpendicular under him, would not touch the bottom, and consequently impeded his swimming only by its weight in water, which was, of course, much less than its weight in air. But there were only two fathoms of water in the cleft; and if he entered the channel towing that leaded line after him, the chance was it would get jambed somewhere, and he should be obliged to turn back, or come back somehow, turning being out of the question on account of the narrowness of the place, in order to free the sinker.
Remembering the free way in which the line had been paid out, and the fact that the sinker was now almost perpendicular under him, he concluded that the whole of the line now run out was far below the influence of the bores. These were not, by-the-way, real bores, but the term fitted them better than any other in the language.
When the next wave had gone by, Cheyne seized the edge of the passage, and catching the line in his feet and left hand, began drawing it up. At the approach of a second wave he was obliged to desist, but before a third was upon him he had the lead in his left hand, and was tearing it off with his teeth.
He had also another object in drawing the slack of that line. It was more than advisable that he should take with him into that cleft as much of the rope as would reach through; for if he had to overcome the friction between the line and the corner of the passage, his progress would be very much slower than if he could pay out as he went. Therefore, while treading the water in the slack, he made a small coil of about fifty feet of rope. He could swim with his right hand and legs.
Everything was now ready; and having waited his time, he filled his chest, threw back his head, and struck out for the opening.
The place looked forbidding. But its narrowness was greatly in the swimmer's favour. If it had been five feet wider, no man in his senses would have dared to enter it at such a time; but because of its narrowness there was only one point to expect motion from, namely, ahead. When the bore had swept through, the water was calm; there was no room for perturbation; and in so narrow a place, where one could touch both sides with hands and feet, there was not much chance of being dashed against the side.
Cheyne had, like Bence, resolved to dive under the bore. But he did not forget, what Bence had forgotten, that beneath the surface of the present smooth water the bore would rush with as much fury as in the body of the bore itself. This was not like a wave which moves with only the force of its undulation, and which has no more lateral power than its onward tidal force.
It is not the lateral force of the sea that beats the beams out of ships, and tears away the most enduring walls of man and the adamantine barriers of nature. It is the shoulder of the wave that gets under the ships and the walls and the cliffs, and pushes them to destruction. At sea we never find the water flying up into the air; of its own accord the water would not leave the cradle in lies in. It is only when it meets with an obstacle and is broken that it deserts its own bed. Then, being broken and weak, it is caught by the wind, and flung over the rocks and cliffs in spray.
But in the case of the passage in which Cheyne now found himself, it was quite different. Into this entered a new body of water, a perpendicular section of a wave which had been torn from the general body of water, and as a projectile blown through this opening by the wind.
Now Bence had not calculated on this; he thought that if he got under the body or lowest level of the bore visible, he would find himself in still water.
Cheyne had also resolved on diving, but for a very different object.
Suppose he remained on the surface, the force of no mortal man could resist that wild rush of water, and the upward thrust which would strike him in the place where such a blow would be most effective--the chest. It would turn him over as a wind would a leaf. It would in all likelihood lift part of his body out of the water, and hurl him backward into the open beyond. The rush of the water must be borne, there was no way of avoiding that; but the uplifting might be avoided.
It was plain that when a torrent, or when in repose, the cleft held just the same quantity of water, from the dead-level line down. Not a gallon more water was below the low-level water-line when the bore dashed through the cleft than a second before the incoming of the wave.
Therefore the bore, as it were, ran along the low-level water; and although the water beneath would be pushed violently forward, the horizontal motion would not be quite as much as above, and there would be little upheaval.
But Cheyne knew what Bence did not know--that no man could, by swimming alone, stem the force of even that under-current.
"When I dive," he said to himself, "and get down there, I shall let go a pretty powerful grapnel. I shall moor myself on all-fours with my hands and feet."
He swam up the cleft, paying out his little coil of rope as he went, until he heard the roller break upon the outer rocks. Then, without waiting another moment, he dived.
When he found the descending force of the dive spent, he thrust out both arms and legs until they reached the sides, then working his legs up and his hands down, until he could get the full measure of his enormous strength to bear laterally upon the rocks, he thrust forward his head and awaited the onset.
When it came it was not quite as bad as he had anticipated; but the strain was tremendous. He had no difficulty in resisting it; but another man, a man of ordinary strength, would have been taxed to the utmost, and in all likelihood driven from his hold.
Cheyne waited until the rush had past, and then rose to the surface. He found himself a few feet in advance of where he had dived.
He had not got many more feet when he heard the thunder of the roller on the rocks once more. Again he was under water before the bore entered the cleft. He had resolved to risk nothing, and his curiosity to know what his foe was like could not induce him to wait and see it.
This time the conditions below water were slightly altered. The passage was wider, and the hold, consequently, less secure; but, to compensate for this, the rush of water was less swift.
The fact that the passage widened thus gradually was a matter of surprise and much anxiety to Cheyne. He had a considerable distance to go before he got out of the cleft and within sight of the yacht, which lay to the southward a little off where he was.
If the passage went on widening as it approached the mouth, then there must be a point, and that too not far off, at which it would be impossible for him to reach from side to side, when, in fact, he would have nothing to rely upon but his powers as a swimmer. A baby would be as potent against that bore as he, if he depended on his powers as a swimmer merely.
It was necessary to proceed with the utmost caution. Should one wave overtake him, unprovided with secure holding-ground under water, all that he had hitherto achieved would be undone, and his own life most likely endangered. He must, so to speak, pick his steps. That is, thenceforth all his progress must be under water.
When the present bore had run its course he rose for breath. The period of his submersion was never more than ten to fifteen seconds. After a few hasty inspirations he dived again, and, feeling carefully along, crawled forward hand over hand, and foot over foot, for a few seconds, until it was time to expect the next wave. Then he set himself to resist it as before.
The moment the current slackened, he rose once more, took breath, and dived again.
At last he came to the place beyond which it would have been obviously unwise to advance, if he were to depend on the means hitherto adopted of stemming the torrent.
What was to be done now?
He was still a good distance from the mouth of the cleft. He had heard the men on shore say that if once he were at the mouth of the cleft he should be past the worst, as he should then be in sight of the yacht, from which a rope could be thrown to him.