Dick, on quitting the Captain's levee, retired in anything but exalted
spirits to Cresswell's study.
He didn't care to face the Den that evening. Not that he was afraid of
Rule 5, or cared a snap what anybody there had to say about his conduct.
But he wasn't sure himself whether he had made a mistake or not. He
hated being in a corner. He had no natural antipathy to doing what was
right, but he didn't like being pinned down to it. He didn't go to the
levee because he was desperately in love with law and order, and it was
a shame for any one to suppose he had. He went because he knew
Heathcote was waiting to see what he did. And now, after all, Heathcote
had deserted his colours and not gone.
It was enough to make any one testy, and Aspinall, had he known it,
would have been less surprised than he was to have his head almost
snapped off as the two fellow-fags sat at work in their senior's study
that evening.
"Can't you do your work without groaning like that?" said Dick, when the
small boy, for about the fiftieth time, stumbled over his hexameters.
"I beg your pardon," said Aspinall, "I didn't mean to disturb you."
"Who said you did?" retorted poor Dick, longing for a quarrel with some
one. "What's the use of flaring up like that?"
"I didn't mean--I'm sorry if I--"
"There you go. Why can't you swear straight out instead of mumbling? I
can't hear what you say."
"I beg your pardon, Dick."
"Shut up, and get on with your work, and don't make such a noise."
After that the wretched Aspinall hardly dared dip his pen in the ink, or
turn over a page, for fear of disturbing his badger companion. It was a
relief when presently Cresswell entered and gave him a chance of escape.
"Well, youngster," said the senior, when he and Dick were left alone,
"I'm glad you had the sense to turn up at the levee."
"I'm sorry I did," said Dick, shortly.
Cresswell knew his man too well to be taken aback by the contradiction.
"Yes? Is the Den going to lick you for it?"
"I'd like to see them try," said Dick, half viciously.
"So would I," said the senior, laughing.
"Mansfield will be trying to make out I've promised to back him up,"
said Dick.
Cresswell laughed.
"By Jove! he _will_ be cut up when he finds you aren't. He'll resign."
Dick coloured up, and looked a little foolish. "I didn't mean that," he
said.
"No very dreadful thing if you did back him up, eh?" said the monitor,
casually. "It might disgust some of your friends in the Den, but you
aren't obliged to toady to them."
"Rather not," said Dick.
"Besides, a fellow may sometimes do what's right and not be an utter
cad. Perhaps you don't think so, though. You'd cut a nobler figure,
wouldn't you, dragging down your chums from one row to another, than by
anything so paltry as doing right because it is right? I quite
understand that feeling."
"Why do you talk to me like that?" said Dick, feeling a sting in every
word of the senior's speech. "You think I went to the levee to please
myself. I didn't."
"And is that why you are sorry you went? Don't make yourself out worse
than you are, Dick. You've done a plucky thing for once in a way, and
got yourself into a row with the Den, and I really don't see that you
have very much to reproach yourself with."
"I don't care a farthing for the Den," said Dick.
"But you do for yourself. If I were you, I wouldn't let myself be
floored by one reverse. Stick to your man, and you'll get him out of
the hands of the Philistines after all."
This little talk did Dick good, and cleared his mind. It put things in
a new light. It recalled the Ghost's letter, and brought up in array
once more the better resolutions that appeal had awakened. What was the
use of his setting up as an example to his friends, when he was little
better than a rowdy himself? Yes; Dick Richardson must be looked to.
How, and by whom?
"_Dominat qui in se dominatur_," said Dick to himself, as he went off to
bed, and closed a very uncomfortable and critical day.
When he went to call Cresswell next morning he found him already up and
dressed.
"Ah, youngster, before you to-day! Have you forgotten it's a holiday?"
"So it is," said Dick, who, in his troubles, had actually overlooked the
fact.
"What do you say to coming with Freckleton and me for a day's fishing in
the Bay? Winter has given us leave if we keep inside the Sprit Rock,
and I expect he'd let you come if I asked him."
"I'd like it frightfully," said Dick, glowing with pleasure at the
invitation.
"All right. Set to work with the sandwiches. Make as many as the
potted meat will allow, and get the matron to boil half-a-dozen eggs
hard. I'll see Winter after chapel about you, and if it's all square
we'll start directly after breakfast."
Dick went into raptures over the making of those sandwiches. Fishing
was one of his great weaknesses, and a day of it, in such lovely weather
as this, and in such distinguished company, was a treat out of the
ordinary. The one drawback was that neither Heathcote nor Coote was in
it. That, however, could not be helped; and he decided that, under the
circumstances, it would be kindest not to tell them about it or raise
their regrets.
After chapel he made straight for Cresswell's study and waited with some
anxiety the result of his senior's application to the Head Master.
In due time Cresswell returned.
"All serene," said he. "He didn't much fancy it, I think; but I
undertook to be responsible for you."
It occurred to Dick that he didn't see why he couldn't be responsible
for himself; but he was too anxious not to mar the expedition, to raise
any protest on behalf of his own independence.
"Take this can," said Cresswell, "and go down as quick as you can to
Green's, next door to the 'Dolphin,' and tell him to fill it with worms
for me, and bring them down to the beach. We're going to have Tug's
boat, and we'll be there in half-an-hour, so look alive."
Dick, rather thankful to be able to get off unobserved, hurried off on
his savoury errand. He had scarcely once gone down town since the
affair of Tom White's boat, and certainly not since the alarming
paragraphs in the _Observer_ had taken to appearing. But he comforted
himself with the reflection that Tom was at present on the high seas,
and that no one else appeared to have any suspicion which would connect
him (Dick) with the mysterious lad who had been seen on the Strand on
the eventful night last June.
For all that, he dawdled not a moment longer than he could help. Green
had the worms ready.
"So you're going for a day's sport, are you?" said he. "It's a good
day, too, and the whiting ought to be plentiful off the rock."
"I hope they will," said Dick.
"They've been let alone the last week or two," said the bait merchant,
"since our chaps have been out in the deep, so you've a fair chance."
"When will the boats be back?" asked Dick, rather nervously.
"We should have seen some of them this morning, but the wind's dropped.
Maybe it will be afternoon before they come in."
"It's always a great day when they come in, isn't it?" asked the boy.
"Depends on the catch. When it's a bad catch no one cares to see them
back."
Dick tried hard to keep down his next question, but it had a sort of
fascination for him, and he could not smother it.
"I suppose," said he in the most careless tones he could assume, "Tom
White's not likely to come back in a hurry?"
Green laughed. He was no friend of the double-dealing mariner.
"Not if he knows who's a-going to be down on the beach to welcome him.
But, bless you, how's he to know? The sooner he comes home and gets his
right lodgings, the better, so say I. What do you say, young squire?"
The "young squire" did not exactly know what to say, and took up his can
of worms to depart, with something like precipitation.
He found Cresswell and Freckleton waiting for him down at the boat.
Until this moment he had never seen the Templeton Hermit, except
occasionally at a distance; and he glanced with some curiosity at the
face of the fellow who had beaten Pledge for the Bishop's Scholarship.
He didn't altogether dislike him. The stolid face and bright black eyes
of the Hermit made him a little uncomfortable, but there was an
occasional twitch at the corners of his mouth, and a music, when he
chose to use it, in his voice, which reconciled the junior to his
presence, and even interested him in the disposal of his new patron's
good graces.
It didn't take long to get "all aboard." The precious worms were safely
deposited in the hold, the three lines were stowed away under the seat,
and the basket containing the sandwiches and hard-boiled eggs added
ballast to the bows. Cresswell, who had an idea of doing things
comfortably, had brought his ulster and made Freckleton bring his. The
latter had armed himself also with a Shakespeare in case the fish didn't
bite; and three towels, knowingly produced by the whipper-in, added a
further pleasant suggestion for whiling away a dull half-hour.
The calmness of the day and the absence of any sign of wind induced the
party to vote the mast and sails a useless encumbrance, and they were
accordingly left ashore, and a spare pair of oars taken in their place.
The irony of fate left it to Dick's lot to see the anchor was in proper
trim and firmly secured--a task which he discharged with almost vicious
solemnity.
"What time does the tide turn, Joe?" asked Cresswell of the boatman as
they ran the boat down to the water.
"Half-past two about, mister. Yer'll need to bring her in close ashore
and give the Fiddle-sand a wide berth while the tide flows."
"All right. Shove her off, Joe."
They had a glorious day. The sea had scarcely a ripple, and the sky
scarcely a cloud. The fish seemed to vie with one another in falling
upon the bait. The view of Templeton from the sea was perfect, and the
sharp outline of the Sprit Rock above them was grandeur itself.
Dick, as he lolled over the side of the boat, slowly hauling up his line
and speculating whether he had got two fish on each hook or only one,
felt supremely at peace with himself and all the world. The sandwiches
had been delicious, Cresswell and Freckleton had treated him like a
lord, the pile of fish on the floor of the boat was worthy of a
professional crew, the light breeze was just enough to keep the sun in
his place, and the sofa he had made for himself with Freckleton's ulster
in the bows was like a feather bed. Dick loved the world and everything
in it, and when Cresswell said, "Walk into those sandwiches, young 'un,"
he really thought life the sweetest task in which mortal can engage.
Cresswell and Freckleton were scarcely more proof against the luxury of
the morning. They chatted in a sort of sleepy undertone, as if they
knew all Nature was taking a nap and didn't want to be disturbed.
"How did you think old Jupiter got through levee?" asked Cresswell.
"Well, for those who wish him well," said the Hermit.
"Ah, he's an uphill job before him, and I fancy he knows it. If he ever
is down in the mouth, I think he was so last night after it was all
over."
"I thought so too," said Freckleton; "that is, I shouldn't call it down
in the mouth. He had headache; that's about the same thing."
"He's staked high. No one else would have dared to challenge the whole
school in the way he did," said Cresswell, dropping his voice, but
still, in the quiet air, not quite beyond Dick's hearing.
"It answered; it brought the right fellows to the front."
"And shut the wrong fellows hopelessly out?"
"I hope not. Many of them are only fools. They think it's plucky to
defy the powers that be, and quite forget it's pluckier to defy
themselves."
"That's a neat way of putting it, old man!"
"There's a big bite this time!" said the Hermit.
So there was--three fish on two hooks, and it was some time before the
diversion was disposed of.
"It's a pity every one can't be made to see he's his own worst enemy; it
would simplify matters awfully. If a youngster got it into his head
that it wanted more pluck to go against himself than all the Templeton
rules put together, we should get some surprises!"
"No chance of that, I'm afraid, while there are fellows like Pledge, who
make it a business to drag youngsters down."
"You may say so. I should say there's not a youngster in Templeton in
greater peril at this moment than Pledge's fag, and the worst of it is
there is no one to help him."
Dick suddenly felt his sofa uncomfortable. The boards underneath
cramped him; the sun, too, for some reason or other, became too hot, and
the breeze fidgeted him; the last sandwich he had eaten had had too much
mustard in it; he was getting fagged of fishing.
Although the talk of the two seniors had not been intended for his ears,
it had been impossible for him to avoid overhearing it, even if he had
tried, which he had not, and the Hermit's last words had stung him to
the quick and spoilt his enjoyment.
"What's the matter, youngster?" asked Cresswell. "Getting sea-sick?"
"No," replied Dick, trying to compose himself.
"What do you say to a header?"
Dick was stripped in half a minute. Anything for a change. And what
change more delightful than a plunge in the lovely green sea?
The seniors smiled at his hurry, as they proceeded in a more leisurely
fashion to follow his example.
"Don't wait for us; over you go," said Cresswell, "and tell old Neptune
we are coming."
Dick waited for no further invitation, and sprang from the gunwale.
They watched the spreading circles that tracked his dive, and marked the
white shining streak as it darted past, under the water.
"He'll be a shark, before long," said Cresswell. "Look at the distance
he's dived."
"He has to thank the tide for part of this, though," said Freckleton,
looking at his watch. "Why, it's--"
An exclamation from Cresswell stopped him. Dick had reappeared, but he
was twenty yards at least astern of the boat, and drifting back every
moment.
At first he did not seem to be aware of it; but, treading water, waved
one hand exultantly to celebrate his long dive.
But when he began to swim, leisurely at first, but harder presently, he
suddenly realised his position, and saw that instead of making way back
to the boat, he was losing distance at every stroke.
Some of my readers may have been in a similar position, and know the
horror of helplessness which, for a moment, comes over the swimmer at
such a time. Dick was not given to panic, still less fear, but, for all
that, the minute which ensued was one of the most terrible in his life.
At certain times of the tide, the current between the Sprit Rock and the
long Fiddle-Sandbank rushed like a mill-race. The boys knew this; they
had been reminded of it at starting. But the morning had passed so
quickly that, until Dick had taken his header, and they saw him swept
astern, it had never occurred to one of them that it could possibly be
three o'clock. Freckleton was the first to see the danger, and almost
as soon as Dick appeared above water, he flung off his coat and boots,
and saying to Cresswell, "Come quick with the boat," plunged into the
water.
He was soon at Dick's side; not to support him, for the boy was able to
do that for himself, but to encourage him to keep cool, and not waste
his strength in endeavouring to stem the tide. And Dick had sense
enough to take the advice, and tread water quietly till the boat should
come.
It seemed a long time coming. The anchor was fast in the bottom, and it
wanted all Cresswell's strength to get it up. Indeed he would have been
tempted to simplify matters by cutting the cord, had he had a knife at
hand.
By the time it was free, the boys were almost a quarter of a mile away,
and getting weary. But once free, their suspense was not prolonged.
Cresswell bore quickly down upon them, and picked them up; and rarely
did three friends breathe more freely than when they all stood once more
on the floor of their boat.
There was no speech-making or wringing of hands, no bragging, no
compliments. They knew one another too well for that, and dressed in
silence, much as if the adventure had been an ordinary incident of an
ordinary bathe.
"It strikes me," said Cresswell, who still had the oars out, "it will
take us all our time to get back. Are you ready to take an oar, old
man?"
Short as the time had been--indeed the whole incident had not occupied
much more than five minutes--the boat was about a mile below her old
moorings, and still in the rush of the current.
It was little the two rowers could do to keep her head up, much less to
make any way; and finally it became clear that if they were to get back
to Templeton at all that day, they must either anchor where they were,
for six hours, with the risk of their rope not holding in the Race, or
else let the current take them out to the open, and then make a long row
back outside the Sprit, and clear of the Fiddle Bank.
They decided on the latter, and somewhat gloomily rested on their oars,
and watched the backward sweep of the boat on the tide seaward.
The square tower of Templeton had become a mere speck on the coast-line,
before they felt the tide under them relax, and knew they were out of
the Race.
Then they manned their oars, and began their long pull home.
Fortunately the water still remained quiet, and the breeze did not
freshen. But after about a mile had been made, and the Sprit Rock
seemed only midway between them and the shore, a peril still more
serious overtook them. The sky became overcast, and a sea mist,
springing from nowhere, came down on the breeze, blotting out first the
horizon, then the rock, and finally the coast, and leaving them
virtually blindfolded in mid-ocean.
"We may as well anchor, and wait till it clears," said Cresswell.
"I think we might go on slowly," said Freckleton. "If we keep the
breeze on our left, and Dick looks sharp out in front, we are bound to
come either on the Sprit or the shore. Try it for a bit."
So they tried; rowing gingerly, and steering by the breeze on their
cheeks, while Dick, ahead, strained his eyes into the soaking mist.
They may have made another mile, and still the mist wrapped them round.
They had no idea where, they were. They might be close to the Rock, or
they might have drifted down the coast, or they might be coming on to
the Race again.
Still, anything seemed better than lying idle, and they paddled steadily
on, hoping against hope for a single glimpse of daylight through the
veil.