A CRY FROM THE SEA
Miss Panney left Thorbury the next morning, but she had to go without
seeing Phoebe, who did not appear at the station. She arrived at Barport
in the afternoon, and went directly to the house of the friend to whom
she had written, and who, it is to be hoped, was glad to see her. She
deferred making her presence known to the Bannister party until the next
morning. When she called at their hotel about ten o'clock, she was
informed that they had all gone down to the beach; and as they could not
be expected to return very soon, Miss Panney betook herself to the
ocean's edge to look for them.
She found a wide stretch of sand crowded with bathers and spectators. It
had been a long time since she had visited the seashore, and she
discovered that seaside customs and costumes had changed very much. She
was surprised, amused, and at times indignant; but, as she had come to
look for the Bannisters, she confined herself to that business,
postponing reflections and judgments.
Her search proved to be a difficult one. She walked up and down the beach
until she assured herself that the Bannisters and Miriam were not among
those who had come as lookers-on, or merely to breathe the salt air and
enjoy the ocean view. When she came to scrutinize the bathers, whether
they were disporting themselves in the sea or standing or lying about on
the sand, she found it would be almost impossible to recognize anybody in
that motley crowd.
"I can scarcely make out," she said to herself, "whether they are men or
women, much less whether I know them or not. But if the Bannisters and
Miriam are among those water-monkeys, I shall know them when I see their
faces, and then I shall take the first chance I get to tell them what I
think of them."
It was not long before Miss Panney began to grow tired. She was not used
to trudging through soft sand, and she had walked a good deal before she
reached the beach. She concluded, therefore, to look for a place where
she might sit down and rest, and if her friends did not show themselves
in a reasonable time she would go back to their hotel and wait for them
there; but she saw no chairs nor benches, and as for imitating the
hundreds of well-dressed people who were sitting down in the dirt,--for
to Miss Panney sand was as much dirt as any other pulverized portion of
the earth's surface,--she had never done such a thing, and she did not
intend to.
Approaching a boat which was drawn up high and dry, she seated herself
upon, or rather leaned against, its side. The bathing-master, a burly
fellow in a bathing-costume, turned to her and informed her courteously
but decidedly that she must not sit upon that boat.
"I do not see why," said Miss Panney, sharply, as she rose "for it is
not of any use in any other way, lying up here on the sand."
She had scarcely finished speaking when the bathing master sprang to his
feet so suddenly that it made Miss Panney jump. For a moment the man
stood listening, and then ran rapidly down the beach. Now Miss Panney
heard, coming from the sea, a cry of "Help! Help!"
Other people heard it, too, and began hurrying after the bathing master.
The cry, which was repeated again and again, came from a group of bathers
who were swimming far from shore, opposite a point on the beach a hundred
yards or more from where Miss Panney was standing. The spectators now
became greatly excited, and crowds of them began to run along the beach,
while many people came out of the sea and joined the hurrying throng.
Still the cries came from the ocean, but they were feebler. Those
experienced in such matters saw what had happened, a party of four
bathers, swimming out beyond the breakers, had been caught in what is
called a "seapuss," an eccentric current, too powerful for them to
overcome, and they were unable to reach the shore.
As he ran, the bathing master shouted to some men to bring him the
lifeline, and this, which was coiled in a box near the boat, was soon
seized by two swift runners and carried out to the man.
"Fool!" exclaimed Miss Panney, who, with flushed face, was hurrying after
the rest, "why didn't he take it with him?"
When the bathing master reached a point opposite the imperilled
swimmers, he was obliged to wait a little for the life-line, but as soon
as it reached him he tied one end of it around his waist and plunged into
the surf. The men who had brought the line did not uncoil it nor even
take it out of the box, and very soon it was seen that the bathing-master
was not only making his way bravely through the breakers, but was towing
after him the coil of rope, and the box in which it had been entangled.
As soon as he perceived this, the man stopped for an instant, jerked the
line from his waist and swam away without it.
Meanwhile a party of men had seized the life-boat, and had pushed it over
the sand to the water's edge, where they launched it, and with much
difficulty kept it from grounding until four young men, all bathers,
jumped in and manned the oars. But before the excited oarsmen had begun
to pull together, an incoming wave caught the bow of the boat, turned it
broadside to the sea, and rolled it over. A dozen men, however, seized
the boat and quickly righted her; again the oarsmen sprang in, and having
been pushed out until the water reached the necks of the men who ran
beside her, she was vigorously pulled beyond the breakers.
The excitement was now intense, not only on the beach, but in the hotels
near the spot, and the shore was black with people. The cries had
entirely ceased, but now the bathing-master was seen making his way
toward the shore, and supporting a helpless form; before he could touch
bottom, however, he was relieved of his burden by some of the men who
were swimming out after him, and he turned back toward a floating head
which could just be seen above the water. He was a powerful swimmer, but
without a line by which he and any one he might rescue could be pulled to
shore, his task was laborious and dangerous.
The boat had now pulled to the bather who, though farthest out to sea,
was the best swimmer, and he, just as his strength was giving way, was
hauled on board. The lifeline had been rescued and disentangled, and the
shore end of it having been taken into proper charge, a man, with the
other end about him, swam to the assistance of the bathing master.
Between these two another lifeless helpless body was borne in.
As might have been supposed, Miss Panney was now in a state of intense
agitation. Not only did she share in the general excitement, but she was
filled with a horrible dread. In ordinary cases of sickness and danger,
it had been her custom to offer her services without hesitation, but then
she knew who were in trouble and what she must do. Now there was a
sickening mystery hanging over what was happening. She was actually
afraid to go near the two lifeless figures stretched upon the sand, each
surrounded by a crowd of people eager to do something or see something.
But her anxious questioning of the people who were scattered about
relieved her, for she found that the two unfortunate persons who had
been brought in were men. Nobody knew whether they were alive or not,
but everything possible was being done to revive them. Several doctors
had made their appearance, and messengers were running to the hotels
for brandy, blankets, and other things needed. In obedience to an
excited entreaty from a physician, one of the groups surged outward and
scattered a little, and Miss Panney saw the form of a strongly built man
lying on his back on the sand, with men kneeling around him, some
working his arms backward and forward to induce respiration, and others
rubbing him vigorously. It was difficult for her to restrain herself
from giving help or advice, for she was familiar with, and took a great
interest in, all sorts of physical distress, but now she turned away and
hurried toward the sea.
She had heard the people say there was another one out there, and her
sickening feeling returned. She walked but a little way, and then she
stopped and eagerly watched what was going on. The bathing-master had
been nearly exhausted when he reached the shore the second time, but he
had rallied his strength and had swum out to the boat which was pulling
about the place where the unfortunate bathers had been swimming. Suddenly
the oarsmen gave a quick pull, they had seen something, a man jumped
overboard, there was bustling on the boat, something was pulled in, then
the boat was rapidly rowed shoreward, the man in the water holding to the
stern until his feet touched ground.
The people crowded to the water's edge so that Miss Panney could scarcely
see the boat when it reached shore, but presently the crowd parted, and
three men appeared, carrying what seemed to be a very light burden.
"Oh, dear," said a woman standing by, "that one was in the water a long
time. I wonder if it is a girl or a boy."
Miss Panney said nothing, but made a few quick steps in the direction of
the limp figure which the crowd was following up the beach; then she
stopped. Her nature prompted her to go on; her present feelings
restrained her. She could not help wondering at this, and said to herself
that she must be aging faster than she thought. Her distant vision was
excellent, and she knew that the inanimate form which was now being laid
on the dry sand was not a boy.
She turned and looked out over the sea, but she could not stand still;
she must do something. On occasions like this it was absolutely necessary
for Miss Panney to do something. She walked up the beach, but not toward
the ring of people that had now formed around the fourth unfortunate. She
must quiet herself a little first.
Suddenly the old lady raised her hands and clasped them. It was a usual
gesture when she thought of something she ought to do.
"If it is one of them," she said to herself, "he ought to know it
instantly! And even if it isn't, he ought to know. They will be in a
terrible state; somebody should be here, and Herbert has gone to the
mountains. There is no one else." She now began to walk more rapidly.
"Yes," she said, speaking aloud in the intensity of her emotion, "he
ought to come, anyway. I can't be left here to take any chances. And if
he does not know immediately, he cannot get here today."
She now directed her steps toward one of the hotels, where she knew there
was a telegraph office.
"No matter what has happened, or what has not happened," she said to
herself as she hurried along, "he ought to be here, and he must come!"
The old lady's hand trembled a good deal as she wrote a telegram to Ralph
Haverley, but the operator at the window could read it. It ran: "A
dreadful disaster here. Come on immediately."
When she had finished this business, Miss Panney stood for a few moments
on the broad piazza of the hotel, which was deserted, for almost
everybody was on the beach. In spite of her agitation a grim smile came
over her face.
"Perhaps that was a little strong," she thought, "but it has gone now.
And no matter how he finds things, I can prove to him he is needed. I do
not believe he will be too much frightened; men never are, and I will see
to it that he has a blessed change in his feelings when he gets here."
Miss Panney was now allowing to enter her mind the conviction, previously
denied admittance, that no one of her three friends would be likely to be
swimming far from shore with a party of men. And, having thus restored
herself to something of her usual composure, she went down to the beach
to find out who had been drowned. On the way she met Mrs. Bannister and
the two girls, and from them she got her information that two of the
persons were believed to be beyond any power of resuscitation, and one of
these was a young lady from Boston.