The half year was drawing to its close, and it was generally agreed
at Dr. Parker's that it had been the jolliest ever known. The boating
episode and that of the tea at Oak Farm had been events which had given
a fillip to existence. The school had been successful in the greater
part of its cricket matches, and generally every one was well satisfied
with himself. On the Saturday preceding the breaking up Frank, with
Ruthven, Charlie Goodall and two of the other naturalists, started along
the seashore to look for anemones and other marine creatures among the
rocks and pools at the foot of the South Foreland. Between Ruthven and
Frank a strong feeling of affection had grown up since the date of their
boating adventure. They were constantly together now; and as Ruthven
was also intended for the army, and would probably obtain his commission
about the same time as Frank, they often talked over their future,
and indulged in hopes that they might often meet, and that in their
campaigns, they might go through adventures together.
Tide was low when they started. They had nearly three miles to walk.
The pools in front of Deal and Walmer had often been searched, but
they hoped that once round the Foreland they might light upon specimens
differing from any which they had hitherto found. For some hours they
searched the pools, retiring as the tide advanced. Then they went up to
the foot of the cliffs, and sat down to open their cans and compare
the treasures they had collected. The spot which they had unwittingly
selected was a little bay. For a long time they sat comparing their
specimens. Then Frank said, “Come along, it is time to be moving.”
As he rose to his feet he uttered an exclamation of dismay. Although
the tide was still at some little distance from the spot where they were
sitting, it had already reached the cliffs extending out at either
end of the bay. A brisk wind was blowing on shore, and the waves were
already splashing against the foot of the rocks.
The whole party leaped to their feet, and seizing their cans ran off at
the top of their speed to the end of the bay.
“I will see how deep the water is,” Frank exclaimed; “we may yet be able
to wade round.”
The water soon reached Frank's waist. He waded on until it was up to
his shoulders, and he had to leap as each wave approached him. Then he
returned to his friends.
“I could see round,” he said, “and I think I could have got round
without getting into deeper water. The worst of it is the bottom is all
rocky, and I stumbled several times, and should have gone under water
if I could not have swam. You can't swim, Ruthven, I know; can you other
fellows?”
Goodall could swim, as could one of the others.
“Now, Ruthven,” Frank said, “if you will put your hand on my shoulder
and keep quiet, I think I could carry you around. Goodall and Jackson
can take Childers.”
But neither of the other boys had much confidence in their swimming.
They could get thirty or forty yards, but felt sure that they would be
able to render but little assistance to Childers, and in fact scarcely
liked to round the point alone. For some time they debated the question,
the sea every minute rising and pushing them farther and farther from
the point. “Look here, Frank,” Ruthven said at last; “you are not sure
you can carry me. The others are quite certain that they cannot take
Childers. We must give up that idea. The best thing, old boy, is for you
three who can swim to start together. Then if either of the others fail
you can help them a bit. Childers and I must take our chance here. When
you get round you must send a boat as soon as possible.”
“I certainly shall not desert you, Ruthven,” Frank said. “You know as
well as I do that I'm not likely to find a boat on the shore till I get
pretty near Walmer Castle, and long before we could get back it would be
settled here. No, no, old fellow, we will see the matter out together.
Jackson and Goodall can swim round if they like.”
These lads, however, would not venture to take the risk alone, but said
they would go if Frank would go with them.
“Chuck off your boots and coats and waistcoats,” Frank said suddenly,
proceeding to strip rapidly to the skin. “I will take them round,
Ruthven, and come back to you. Run round the bay you and Childers, and
see if you can find any sort of ledge or projection that we can take
refuge upon. Now, then, come on you two as quick as you can.”
The sea had already reached within a few feet of the foot of the cliff
all round the bay.
“Now, mind,” Frank said sharply, “no struggling and nonsense, you
fellows. I will keep quite close to you and stick to you, so you needn't
be afraid. If you get tired just put one hand on my back and swim with
the other and your legs; and above all things keep your heads as low as
possible in the water so as just to be able to breathe.”
The three lads soon waded out as far as they could go and then struck
out. Jackson and Goodall were both poor swimmers and would have fared
very badly alone. The confidence, however, which they entertained in
Frank gave them courage, and they were well abreast of the point when
first Jackson and then Goodall put their hands on his shoulders. Thanks
to the instructions he had given them, and to their confidence in him,
they placed no great weight upon him. But every ounce tells heavily on a
swimmer, and Frank gave a gasp of relief as at last his feet touched the
ground. Bidding his companions at once set off at a run he sat down for
two or three minutes to recover his breath.
“It is lucky,” he said to himself, “that I did not try with Ruthven.
It's a very different thing carrying fellows who can swim and fellows
who can't. What fools we've been to let ourselves he caught here! I had
no idea the tide came so high, or that it was so dangerous, and none of
us have ever been round here before. Now I must go back to Ruthven.”
Frank found it even harder work to get back than it had been to come out
from the bay, for the tide was against him now. At last he stood beside
Ruthven and Childers.
“We can only find one place, Frank, where there is any projection a
fellow could stand upon, and that is only large enough for one. See!” he
said, pointing to a projecting block of chalk, whose upper surface, some
eight inches wide, was tolerably flat. “There is a cave here, too, which
may go beyond the tide. It is not deep but it slopes up a bit.”
“That will never do,” Frank said; “as the waves come in they will rush
up and fill it to the top. Don't you see it is all rounded by the water?
Now, Childers, we will put you on that stone. You will be perfectly safe
there, for you see it is two feet above this greenish line, which shows
where the water generally comes to. The tides are not at spring at
present, so though you may get a splashing there is no fear of your
being washed off.”
The water was already knee deep at the foot of the rocks, and the waves
took them nearly up to the shoulders. Ruthven did not attempt to dispute
Frank's allotment of the one place of safety to Childers. Frank and he
placed themselves below the block of chalk, which was somewhat over six
feet from the ground. Then Childers scrambled up on to their shoulders,
and from these stepped onto the ledge.
“I am all right,” he said; “I wish to Heaven that you were too.”
“We shall do,” Frank said. “Mind you hold tight, Childers! You had
better turn round with your face to the cliff, so as to be able to grip
hold and steady yourself in case the waves come up high. The tide will
turn in three quarters of an hour at the outside. Now, then, Ruthven,
let's make a fight for it, old man.”
“What are you going to do, Frank?”
“We will wade along here as far as we can towards the corner, and than
we must swim for it.”
“Don't you think it's possible to stay here,” Ruthven said, “if the tide
will turn so soon?”
“Quite impossible!” Frank said. “I have been nearly taken off my feet
twice already, and the water will rise a yard yet, at least. We should
be smashed against the rocks, even if we weren't drowned. It must be
tried, Ruthven. There is no other way for it. The distance is a good
deal farther than it would have been if we had started at first; but it
isn't the distance that makes much matter. We've only got to go out a
little way, and the tide will soon take us around the point. Everything
depends on you. I can take you round the point, and land you safely
enough, if you will lie quiet. If you don't, you will drown both of us.
So it's entirely in your hands.
“Look out!”
At this moment a larger wave than usual took both boys off their legs,
and dashed them with considerable force against the cliff. Frank seized
Ruthven, and assisted him to regain his feet.
“Now, old fellow, let me put you on your back. I will lie on mine and
tow you along. Don't struggle; don't move; above all, don't try and lift
your head, and don't mind if a little water gets in your mouth. Now!”
For a moment Ruthven felt himself under water, and had to make a great
effort to restrain himself from struggling to come to the surface. Then
he felt himself lying on his back in the water, supported by Frank. The
motion was not unpleasant as he rose and fell on the waves, although now
and then a splash of water came over his face, and made him cough and
splutter for breath. He could see nothing but the blue sky overhead,
could feel nothing except that occasionally he received a blow from
one or other of Frank's knees, as the latter swam beneath him, with
Ruthven's head on his chest. It was a dreamy sensation, and looking
back upon it afterwards Ruthven could never recall anything that he
had thought of. It seemed simply a drowsy pleasant time, except when
occasionally a wave covered his face. His first sensation was that of
surprise when he felt the motion change, and Frank lifted his head
from the water and said, “Stand up, old fellow. Thank God, here we are,
safe!”
Frank had indeed found the journey easier than that which he had before
undertaken with the others. He had scarcely tried to progress, but had,
after getting sufficiently far out to allow the tide to take him round
the point, drifted quietly.
“I owe my life to you, Frank. I shall never forget it, old fellow.”
“It's been a close thing,” Frank answered; “but you owe your life as
much to your own coolness as to me, and above all, Ruthven, don't let us
forget that we both owe our lives to God.”
“I sha'n't forget it,” Ruthven said quietly, and they stood for a few
minutes without speaking. “Now, what had we better do? Shall we start to
run home?”
“I can't,” Frank laughed, for he had nothing on but his trousers. These
he had slipped on after the return from his first trip, pushing the rest
of his things into a crevice in the rocks as high up as he could reach.
“You had better take off your things, Ruthven, and lay them out to dry
in the sun. The boat will be here in half an hour. I wonder how Childers
is getting on!”
“I think he will be safe,” Ruthven said. “The tide will not rise high
enough for there to be much danger of his being washed off.”
“I don't think so either,” Frank agreed, “or I would try and swim back
again; but I really don't think I could get round the point against the
tide again.”
In half an hour a boat rowing four oars was seen approaching.
“They are laying out well,” Ruthven said. “They couldn't row harder if
they were rowing a race. But had it not been for you, old fellow, they
would have been too late, as far as I am concerned.”
As the boat approached, the coxswain waved his hat to the boys. Frank
motioned with his arm for them to row on round the point. The boat
swept along at a short distance from the shore. The boys watched them
breathlessly. Presently as it reached the point they saw the coxswain
stand up and say something to the men, who glanced over their shoulders
as they rowed. Then the coxswain gave a loud shout. “Hold on! We'll be
with you directly.”
“Thank God!” Frank exclaimed, “Childers is all right.”
It was well, however, that the boat arrived when it did, for Childers
was utterly exhausted when it reached him. The sea had risen so high
that the waves broke against his feet, throwing the spray far above his
head, and often nearly washing him from the ledge on which he stood.
Had it not been, indeed, for the hold which he obtained of the cliff, it
would several times have swept him away. About eighteen inches above
his head he had found a ledge sufficiently wide to give a grip for his
hands, and hanging by these he managed to retain his place when three
times his feet were swept off the rock by the rush of water. The tide
was just on the turn when the boat arrived, and so exhausted was he that
he certainly would not have been able to hold out for the half hour's
buffeting to which he would have been exposed before the water fell
sufficiently to leave him. After helping him into the boat the men
gathered the clothes jammed in fissures of the cliffs. These were, of
course, drenched with water, but had for the most part remained firm in
their places. They now pulled round to the spot where Frank and Ruthven
were awaiting them.
“Childers must have been pretty nearly done,” Frank said. “He must be
lying in the bottom of the boat.”
Childers gave a smile of pleasure as his schoolfellows jumped on board.
He had, glancing over his shoulder, seen them drift out of sight round
the point, and had felt certain that they had reached shore. It was,
however, a great pleasure to be assured of the fact.
“You have made quite a stir upon the beach, young gentlemen,” the
coxswain of the boat said. “When they two came running up without their
shoes or coats and said there were three of you cut off in the bay under
the Foreland, there didn't seem much chance for you. It didn't take us
two minutes to launch the boat, for there were a score of hands helping
to run her down; and my mates bent to it well, I can tell you, though we
didn't think it would be of any use. We were glad when we made you two
out on this side of the point. Look, there's half Deal and Walmer coming
along the shore.”
It was as the boatman said. Numbers of persons were streaming along the
beach, and loud were the cheers which rose as the coxswain stood up and
shouted in a stentorian voice, “All saved!”
Frank put on his things as they approached Walmer. His shoes were lost,
as were those of Ruthven, and he had difficulty in getting his arms into
his wet and shrunken jacket. Quite a crowd were gathered near the castle
as the boat rowed to shore, and a hearty cheer arose as it was run up
on the shingle and the boys were helped out. Frank and Ruthven, indeed,
required no assistance. They were in no way the worse for the adventure,
but Childers was so weak that he was unable to stand. He was carried up
and laid on a fly, the others sitting opposite, the driver having first
taken the precaution of removing the cushions.
There were among the crowd most of the boys from Dr. Parker's. Goodall
and Jackson had arrived nearly an hour and a half before, and the news
had spread like wildfire. Bats and balls had been thrown down and every
one had hurried to the beach. Goodall and his companion had already
related the circumstance of their being cut off by the water and taken
round the point by Frank; and as Ruthven on jumping out had explained
to his comrades who flocked round to shake his hand, “I owe my life to
Hargate,” the enthusiasm reached boiling point, and Frank had difficulty
in taking his place in the fly, so anxious were all to shake his hand
and pat him on the shoulder. Had it not been for his anxiety to get home
as soon as possible, and his urgent entreaties, they would have carried
him on their shoulders in triumph through the town. They drove first to
the school, where Childers was at once carried up to a bed, which had
been prepared with warm blankets in readiness; Ruthven needed only to
change his clothes.
The moment they had left the fly Frank drove straight home, and was
delighted at finding, from his mother's exclamation of surprise as he
alighted from the cab, that she had not been suffering any anxiety, no
one, in the general excitement, having thought of taking the news to
her. In answer to her anxious inquiries he made light of the affair,
saying only that they had stupidly allowed themselves to be cut off
by the sea and had got a ducking. It was not, indeed, till the next
morning, when the other four boys came around to tell Mrs. Hargate that
they were indebted to Frank for their lives, that she had any notion
that he had been in danger.
Frank was quite oppressed by what he called the fuss which was made over
the affair. A thrilling description of it appeared in the local papers.
A subscription was got up in the school, and a gold watch with an
inscription was presented to him; and he received letters of heart
felt thanks from the parents of his four schoolfellows, for Childers
maintained that it was entirely to Frank's coolness and thoughtfulness
that his preservation was also due.
On the following Wednesday the school broke up. Frank had several
invitations from the boys to spend his holidays with them; but he knew
how lonely his mother would feel in his absence, and he declined all the
invitations. Mrs. Hargate was far from strong, and had had several fits
of fainting. These, however, had taken place at times when Frank was at
school, and she had strictly charged her little servant to say nothing
about it.
One day on returning from a long walk he saw the doctor's carriage
standing at the door. Just as he arrived the door opened and the doctor
came out. Upon seeing Frank he turned.
“Come in here, my boy,” he said.
Frank followed him, and seeing that the blinds were down, went to draw
them up. The doctor laid his hand on his arm.
“Never mind that,” he said gently.
“My boy,” he said, “do you know that your mother has been for some time
ailing?”
“No, indeed,” Frank said with a gasp of pain and surprise.
“It is so, my boy. I have been attending her for some time. She has
been suffering from fainting fits brought on by weakness of the heart's
action. Two hours since I was sent for and found her unconscious. My
poor boy, you must compose yourself. God is good and merciful, though
his decrees are hard to bear. Your mother passed away quietly half an
hour since, without recovering consciousness.”
Frank gave a short cry, and then sat stunned by the suddenness of the
blow. The doctor drew out a small case from his pocket and poured a
few drops from the phial into a glass, added some water, and held it to
Frank's lips.
“Drink this, my boy,” he said.
Frank turned his head from the offered glass. He could not speak.
“Drink this, my boy,” the doctor said again; “it will do you good. Try
and be strong for the sake of your little sister, who has only you in
the world now.”
The thought of Lucy touched the right chord in the boy's heart, and he
burst into a passionate fit of crying. The doctor allowed his tears to
flow unchecked.
“You will be better now,” he said presently. “Now drink this, then lie
down on the sofa. We must not be having you ill, you know.”
Frank gulped down the contents of the glass, and, passive as a child,
allowed the doctor to place him upon the sofa.
“God help and strengthen you, my poor boy,” he said; “ask help from
Him.”
For an hour Frank lay sobbing on the sofa, and then, remembering the
doctor's last words, he knelt beside it and prayed for strength.
A week had passed. The blinds were up again. Mrs. Hargate had been laid
in her last home, and Frank was sitting alone again in the little parlor
thinking over what had best be done. The outlook was a dark one, enough
to shake the courage of one much older than Frank. His mother's pension,
he knew, died with her. He had, on the doctor's advice, written to
the War Office on the day following his mother's death, to inform the
authorities of the circumstances, and to ask if any pension could
be granted to his sister. The reply had arrived that morning and had
relieved him of the greatest of his cares. It stated that as he was
now just fifteen years old he was not eligible for a pension, but that
twenty-five pounds a year would be paid to his sister until she married
or attained the age of twenty-one.
He had spoken to the doctor that morning, and the latter said that he
knew a lady who kept a small school, and who would, he doubted not, be
willing to receive Lucy and to board and clothe her for that sum. She
was a very kind and motherly person, and he was sure that Lucy would be
most kindly treated and cared for by her. It was then of his own future
only that Frank had to think. There were but a few pounds in the house,
but the letter from the War Office inclosed a check for twenty pounds,
as his mother's quarterly pension was just due. The furniture of the
little house would fetch but a small sum, not more, Frank thought, than
thirty or forty pounds. There were a few debts to pay, and after all was
settled up there would remain about fifty pounds. Of this he determined
to place half in the doctor's hands for the use of Lucy.
“She will want,” he said to himself, “a little pocket money. It is hard
on a girl having no money to spend of her own. Then, as she gets on, she
may need lessons in something or other. Besides, half the money rightly
belongs to her, The question is, What am I to do?”