“Don't you think, Hargate,” Ruthven shouted in his ear, “we had
better run before it? It's as much as Handcock can do to keep her head
straight.”
“Yes,” Frank shouted back, “if it were not for the Goodwins. They lie
right across ahead of us.”
Ruthven said no more, and for another hour he and Frank rowed their
hardest. Then Handcock and Jones took the oars. Ruthven lay down in
the bottom of the boat and Frank steered. After rowing for another hour
Frank found that he could no longer keep the boat head to wind. Indeed,
he could not have done so for so long had he not shipped the rudder and
steered the boat with an oar, through a notch cut in the stern for the
purpose. Already the boat shipped several heavy seas, and Ruthven was
kept hard at work baling with a tin can in which they had brought out
bait.
“Ruthven, we must let her run. Put out the other oar, we must watch our
time. Row hard when I give the word.”
The maneuver was safely accomplished, and in a minute the boat was
flying before the gale.
“Keep on rowing,” Frank said, “but take it easily. We must try and make
for the tail of the sands. I can see the lightship.”
Frank soon found that the wind was blowing too directly upon the long
line of sands to enable him to make the lightship. Already, far ahead,
a gray light seemed to gleam up, marking where the sea was breaking over
the dreaded shoal.
“I am afraid it is no use,” he said. “Now, boys, we had best, each of
us, say our prayers to God, and prepare to die bravely, for I fear that
there is no hope for us.”
There was silence in the boat for the next five minutes, as the boys sat
with their heads bent down. More than one choking sob might have been
heard, had the wind lulled, as they thought of the dear ones at home.
Suddenly there was a flash of light ahead, and the boom of a gun
directly afterwards came upon their ears. Then a rocket soared up into
the air.
“There is a vessel on the sands,” Frank exclaimed. “Let us make for her.
If we can get on board we shall have a better chance than here.”
The boys again bent to their oars, and Frank tried to steer exactly for
the spot whence the rocket had gone up. Presently another gun flashed
out.
“There she is,” he said. “I can see her now against the line of
breakers. Take the oar again, Ruthven. We must bring up under shelter of
her lee.”
In another minute or two they were within a hundred yards of the ship.
She was a large vessel, and lay just at the edge of the broken water.
The waves, as they struck her, flew high above her deck. As the boat
neared her a bright light suddenly sprang up. The ship was burning a
blue light. Then a faint cheer was heard.
“They see us,” Frank said. “They must think we are the lifeboat. What
a disappointment for them! Now, steady, lads, and prepare to pull her
round the instant we are under her stern. I will go as near as I dare.”
Frank could see the people on deck watching the boat. They must have
seen now that she was not the lifeboat; but even in their own danger
they must have watched with intense interest the efforts of the tiny
boat, adrift in the raging sea, to reach them. Frank steered the boat
within a few yards of the stern. Then Jones and Ruthven, who were both
rowing the same side, exerted themselves to the utmost, while
Frank pushed with the steering oar. A minute later, and they lay in
comparatively still water, under the lee of the ship. Two or three ropes
were thrown them, and they speedily climbed on board.
“We thought you were the lifeboat at first,” the captain said, as they
reached the deck; “but, of course, they cannot be here for a couple of
hours yet.”
“We were blown off shore, sir,” Frank said, “and have been rowing
against the wind for hours.”
“Well, my lads,” the captain said, “you have only prolonged your lives
for a few minutes, for she will not hold together long.”
The ship, indeed, presented a pitiable appearance. The masts had already
gone, the bulwark to windward had been carried away, and the hull lay
heeled over at a sharp angle, her deck to leeward being level with
the water. The crew were huddled down near the lee bulwarks, sheltered
somewhat by the sharp slope of the deck from the force of the wind. As
each wave broke over the ship, tons of water rushed down upon them. No
more guns were fired, for the lashing had broken and the gun run down to
leeward. Already there were signs that the ship would break up ere long,
and no hope existed that rescue could arrive in time.
Suddenly there was a great crash, and the vessel parted amidships.
“A few minutes will settle it now,” the captain said. “God help us all.”
At this moment there was a shout to leeward, which was answered by a
scream of joy from those on board the wreck, for there, close alongside,
lay the lifeboat, whose approach had been entirely unseen. In a few
minutes the fifteen men who remained of the twenty-two, who had formed
the crew of the wreck, and the four boys, were on board her. A tiny sail
was set and the boat's head laid towards Ramsgate.
“I am glad to see you, Master Hargate,” the sailor who rowed one of the
stroke oars shouted. He was the man who had lent them the boat. “I was
up in the town looking after my wife, who is sick, and clean forgot you
till it was dark. Then I ran down and found the boat hadn't returned, so
I got the crew together and we came out to look for you, though we had
little hope of finding you. It was lucky for you we did, and for the
rest of them too, for so it chanced that we were but half a mile away
when the ship fired her first gun, just as we had given you up and
determined to go back; so on we came straight here. Another ten minutes
and we should have been too late. We are making for Ramsgate now. We
could never beat back to Deal in this wind. I don't know as I ever saw
it blow much harder.”
These sentences were not spoken consecutively, but were shouted out in
the intervals between gusts of wind. It took them two hours to beat back
to Ramsgate, a signal having been made as soon as they left the wreck to
inform the lifeboat there and at Broadstairs that they need not put out,
as the rescue had been already effected. The lads were soon put to bed
at the sailors' home, a man being at once despatched on horseback to
Deal, to inform those there of the arrival of the lifeboat, and of the
rescue of the four boys who had been blown to sea.
Early next morning Frank and Handcock returned to Deal, the other two
lads being so exhausted by their fatigue and exposure that the doctor
said they had better remain in bed for another twenty-four hours.
It is impossible to describe the thankfulness and relief which Mrs.
Hargate experienced, when, about two in the morning, Dr. Parker himself
brought her news of the safety of her boy. She had long given up all
hope, for when the evening came on and Frank had not returned, she had
gone down to the shore. She learned from the fishermen there that it was
deemed impossible that the boys could reach shore in face of the gale,
and that although the lifeboat had just put out in search of them, the
chances of their being found were, as she herself saw, faint indeed.
She had passed the hours which had intervened, in prayer, and was still
kneeling by her bedside, where little Lucy was unconsciously sleeping,
when Dr. Parker's knock was heard at the door. Fervent, indeed, was her
gratitude to God for the almost miraculous preservation of her son's
life, and then, overcome by the emotions she had experienced, she sought
her couch, and was still asleep when, by the earliest train in the
morning, Frank returned.
For some time the four boys were the heroes of the school. A
subscription was got up to pay for the lost boat, and close as were Mrs.
Hargate's means, she enabled Frank to subscribe his share towards the
fund. The incident raised Frank to a pinnacle of popularity among his
schoolfellows, for the three others were unanimous in saying that it was
his coolness and skill in the management of the boat, which alone kept
up their spirits, and enabled them to keep her afloat during the gale,
and to make the wreck in safety.
In the general enthusiasm excited by the event, Frank's pursuits,
which had hitherto found few followers, now became quite popular in the
school. A field club was formed, of which he was elected president,
and long rambles in the country in search of insects and plants were
frequently organized. Frank himself was obliged, in the interests of the
school, to moderate the zeal of the naturalists, and to point out
that cricket must not be given up, as, if so large a number withdrew
themselves from the game, the school would suffer disaster in its
various engagements with other schools in the neighborhood. Consequently
the rule was made that members of the club were bound to be in the
cricket field on at least three days in the week, including one half
holiday, while they were free to ramble in the country on other days.
This wise regulation prevented the “naturalists” from becoming unpopular
in the school, which would assuredly have been the case had they
entirely absented themselves from cricket.
One Saturday afternoon Frank started with a smaller boy, who was one of
his most devoted followers, for a long country walk. Frank carried his
blowgun, and a butterfly net, Charlie Goodall a net of about a foot in
depth, made of canvas, mounted on a stout brass rim, and strong stick,
for the capture of water beetles. Their pockets bulged with bottles and
tin boxes for the carriage of their captured prey.
They had passed through Eastry, a village four miles from Deal, when
Frank exclaimed, “There is a green hairstreak. The first I've seen this
year. I have never caught one before.”
Cautiously approaching the butterfly, who was sunning himself on the
top of a thistle, Frank prepared to strike, when it suddenly mounted and
flitted over a hedge. In a moment the boys had scrambled through the
gap and were in full pursuit. The butterfly flitted here and there,
sometimes allowing the boys to approach within a few feet and then
flitting away again for fifty yards without stopping. Heedless where
they were going, the boys pursued, till they were startled by a sudden
shout close to them.
“You young rascals, how dare you run over my wheat?”
The boys stopped, and Frank saw what, in his excitement, he had not
hitherto heeded, that he was now running in a field of wheat, which
reached to his knee.
“I am very sorry, sir,” he said. “I was so excited than I really did not
see where I was going.”
“Not see!” shouted the angry farmer. “You young rascal, I'll break every
bone in your body,” and he flourished a heavy stick as he spoke.
Charlie Goodall began to cry.
“I have no right to trespass on your wheat, sir,” Frank said firmly;
“but you have no right to strike us. My name is Frank Hargate. I belong
to Dr. Parker's school at Deal, and if you will say what damage I have
caused, I will pay for it.”
“You shall pay for it now,” shouted the farmer, as he advanced with
uplifted stick.
Frank slipped three or four of his clay bullets into his mouth.
“Leave us alone or it will be worse for you,” he said as he raised the
blowgun to his mouth.
The farmer advanced, and Frank sent a bullet with all his force, and
with so true an aim that he struck the farmer on the knuckles. It was a
sharp blow, and the farmer, with a cry of pain and surprise, dropped the
stick.
“Don't come a step nearer,” Frank shouted. “If you do, I will aim at
your eye next time,” and he pointed the threatening tube at the enraged
farmer's face.
“I'll have the law of you, you young villain. I'll make you smart for
this.”
“You can do as you like about that,” Frank said. “I have only struck you
in self defense, and have let you off easily. Come along, Charlie, let's
get out of this.”
In a few minutes they were again on the road, the farmer making no
attempt to follow them, but determined in his mind to drive over the
next morning to Deal to take out a summons against them for trespass and
assault. The lads proceeded silently along the road. Frank was greatly
vexed with himself at his carelessness in running over half grown wheat,
and was meditating how he could pay the fine without having to ask his
mother. He determined upon his return to carry some of his cases of
stuffed birds down to a shop in the town, and he felt sure that he
could get enough for these to pay for any damage which could have been
inflicted, with a fine for trespassing, for he had seen stuffed birds
exposed in the windows for sale, which were, he was sure, very inferior
to his own both in execution and lifelike interest.
After proceeding a few hundred yards along the road they met a pretty
little girl of seven or eight years old walking along alone. Frank
scarcely glanced at her, for at the moment he heard a shouting in
the distance and saw some men running along the road. For a moment he
thought that the farmer had despatched some of his men to stop him,
but instantly dismissed the idea, as they were coming from the opposite
direction and could by no possibility have heard what had happened. They
were lost sight of by a dip in the road, and as they disappeared, an
object was seen on the road on the near side of the dip.
“It is a dog,” Frank said. “What can they be shouting at?”
The dog was within fifty yards of them when the men again appeared from
the dip and recommenced shouting. Frank could now hear what they said.
“Mad dog! mad dog!”
“Get through the hedge, Charlie, quick,” Frank cried. “Here, I will help
you over, never mind the thorns.”
The hedge was low and closely kept, and Frank, bundling his comrade over
it, threw himself across and looked round. The dog was within ten yards
of them, and Frank saw that the alarm was well founded. The dog was a
large crossbred animal, between a mastiff and a bulldog. Its hair was
rough and bristling. It came along with its head down and foam churning
from its mouth. Frank looked the other way and gave a cry. Yet twenty
yards off, in the middle of the road, stood the child. She, too, had
heard the shouts, and had paused to see what was the matter. She had
not taken the alarm, but stood unsuspicious of danger, watching, not the
dog, but the men in the distance.
Frank placed the blowgun to his mouth, and in a moment his pellet struck
the animal smartly on the side of the head. It gave a short yelp and
paused. Another shot struck it, and then Frank, snatching the water net
from Charlie, threw himself over the hedge, and placed himself between
the child and the dog just as the latter, with a savage growl, rushed at
him.
Frank stood perfectly cool, and as the animal rushed forward, thrust the
net over its head; the ring was but just large enough to allow its head
to enter. Frank at once sprang forward, and placing himself behind the
dog kept a strain upon the stick, so retaining the mouth of the net
tightly on his neck. The animal at first rushed forward dragging Frank
after him. Then he stopped, backed, and tried to withdraw his head from
the encumbrance which blinded him. Frank, however, had no difficulty
in retaining the canvas net in its place, until the men, who were armed
with pitchforks, ran up and speedily despatched the unfortunate animal.
“That's bravely done, young master,” one of them said; “and you have
saved missy's life surely. The savage brute rushed into the yard and bit
a young colt and a heifer, and then, as we came running out with forks,
he took to the road again. We chased 'um along, not knowing who we
might meet, and it gived us a rare turn when we saw the master's Bessy
standing alone in the road, wi' nout between her and the dog. Where have
you been, Miss Bessy?”
“I've been to aunt's,” she said, “and she gave me some strawberries and
cream, and it's wicked of you to kill the poor dog.”
“Her aunt's farm lies next to master's,” the man explained; “and little
miss often goes over there.
“The dog was mad, missy, and if it hadn't been for young master here, it
would have killed you as safe as eggs. Won't you come back to the farm,
sir? Master and mistress would be main glad to thank you for having
saved missy's life.”
“No, thank you,” Frank said; “we are late now and must be going on our
way. I am very glad I happened to be here at the time;” so saying Frank
and Charlie proceeded on their way to Deal.
On reaching home he at once picked out four of his best cases of
stuffed birds. The cases he had constructed himself, for his father had
encouraged him to depend upon himself for his amusements. He had asked
Charlie to come round to help him to carry the cases, and with these he
proceeded to a shop where he had seen such things offered for sale.
“And you really did these yourself?” the man said in surprise. “They are
beautifully done. Quite pictures, I call them. It is a pity that they
are homely birds. There is no great sale for such things here. I cannot
give you more than five shillings each, but if you had them in London
they would be worth a great deal more.”
Frank gladly accepted the offer, and feeling sure that the pound would
cover the damage done and the fine, which might be five shillings apiece
for trespassing, went home in good spirits. The next morning the
doctor was called out in the middle of school, and presently returned
accompanied by the farmer with whom they had had the altercation on the
previous day. Frank felt his cheeks flush as he anticipated a severe
reprimand before the whole school.
“Mr. Gregson,” the doctor said, “tells me that two of my boys were out
near his place at Eastry yesterday. One of them gave him his name, which
he has forgotten.”
“It was I, sir,” Frank said rising in his place; “I was there with
Goodall. We ran on Mr. Gregson's ground after a butterfly. It was my
fault, sir, for, of course, Goodall went where I did. We ran among his
wheat, and I really did not notice where we were going till he called
to us. I was wrong, of course, and am ready to pay for any damage we may
have caused.”
“You are welcome,” the farmer said, “to trample on my wheat for the rest
of your born days. I haven't come over here to talk about the wheat,
though I tell you fairly I'd minded to do so. I've come over here, Dr.
Parker, me and my missus who's outside, to thank this young gentleman
for having saved the life of my little daughter Bessy. She was walking
along the road when a mad dog, a big brute of a mastiff, who came, I
hear, from somewhere about Canterbury, and who has bit two boys on the
road, to say nothing of other dogs and horses and such like; he came
along the road, he were close to my Bess, and she stood there all alone.
Some of my men with pitchforks were two hundred yards or so behind; but
law, they could have done nothing! when this young gentleman here jumped
all of a sudden over a hedge and put himself between the dog and my
Bess. The dog, he rushed at him; but what does he do but claps a bag
he'd got at the end of a stick over the brute's head, and there he holds
him tight till the men comes up and kills him with their forks.
“Young gentleman,” he said, stepping up to Frank and holding out his
hand, “I owe my child's life to you. There are not many men who would
have thrown themselves in the way of a mad dog, for the sake of a child
they knew nothing of. I thank you for it with all my heart. God bless
you, sir. Now, boys, you give three cheers with me for your schoolmate,
for you've got a right to be proud of him.”
Three such thundering cheers as those which arose had never been heard
within the limits of Dr. Parker's school from the day of its foundation.
Seeing that farther work could not be expected from them after this
excitement, Dr. Parker gave the boys a holiday for the rest of the day,
and they poured out from the schoolroom, shouting and delighted, while
Frank was taken off to the parlor to be thanked by Mrs. Gregson.
The farmer closed his visit by inviting Frank, with as many of his
schoolfellows as he liked--the whole school if they would come, the more
the better--to come over to tea on the following Saturday afternoon, and
he promised them as much strawberries and cream as they could eat. The
invitation was largely accepted, and the boys all agreed that a jollier
meal they never sat down to than that which was spread on tables in
the farmer's garden. The meal was called tea, but it might have been a
dinner, for the tables were laden with huge pies, cold chicken and duck,
hams, and piles of cakes and tarts of all sorts. Before they started for
home, late in the evening, syllabub and cake were handed round, and the
boys tramped back to Deal in the highest of glee at the entertainment
they had received from the hospitable farmer and his wife.
Great fun had been caused after tea by the farmer giving a humorous
relation of the battle with which his acquaintance with Frank had
commenced, and especially at the threat of Frank to send a bullet
into his eye if he interfered with him. When they left, a most cordial
invitation was given to Frank to come over, with any friend he liked to
bring with him, and have tea at the Oaks Farm whenever he chose to do
so.