Cuthbert released himself from the leash, which was dragging him along
too fast, and ran back to his sister.
"Did you hear the singing?" she asked. "Did you see the men ride past?
They are gone to the rescue, Cuth; they are gone to father's help. May
God reward them all."
"And will you come to ours?" he said. "Audrey, you could feed the fire.
Edwin and I have got a lot of wood together. You have only to keep
throwing it on; and then I can help Edwin."
"'What lads e'er did our lads will do;
Were I a lad I'd follow him too,'"
she answered, slipping her shawl from under Effie's head and tying it
once more over her own. They went out together. Cuthbert helped her up
the rock, pulled a big root in to the front of the fire to make her a
seat, and left her a willing stoker. He had pointed out the tiny
cockle-shell of a boat--a small dark speck beyond the sheet of boiling
foam, with the hungry, curling waves leaping after it.
Could it escape swamping in the outer line of breakers it could never
hope to cross? It was running before them now. Edwin had put Beauty
once more into the cart, and was carefully knotting the rope to the back
of it.
He had learned to tie a safety-knot--a sailor's knot--on their voyage
out. Thank God for that! It whiled away an idle hour at the time; now
it might prove the saving of human creatures' lives. That the cart was
heavy and lumbering and strong was cause for rejoicing.
"You and I, Cuth, could not pull a man through such a sea; but Beauty
can. We know how well he crossed the ford. I shall back him into the
water as far as ever I can, and then jump into the cart and throw the
rope. You see my plan?"
"I do," said Cuth; "but as soon as you leave go of Beauty's head he'll
come splashing back again out of the water. You must have me in the
cart to hold his reins."
"I dare not," protested Edwin. "A shrimp like you would be washed out
to sea in no time; and I promised father to take care of you. No, Cuth,
you are not yet ten years old."
"I am sure I look a good bit older than that, in father's coat," urged
Cuthbert, looking down upon himself with considerable satisfaction; but
Edwin was inexorable. "Tie me in the cart, then," cried Cuthbert.
"Where is the old leash?"
It was quickly found, and Edwin owned the thought was a good one.
When all was ready a sudden impulse prompted them to run back into the
hut and look at Erne, and then up the rock for a final word with Audrey.
They found her already wet with the salt sea spray, and almost torn to
pieces by the wind, but, as Edwin said, "at it all the same."
The final word was spoken, reiterated, shouted; who, alas! could hear it
in the rage of the storm? So it came to a snatch of kiss, and away they
ran, leaving Audrey with the impression that the moving lips were trying
to repeat, "Keep us a jolly blaze."
Voice being useless on such a morning, Audrey made answer by action, and
flung her brands upon the fire with such rapidity that the column of
flame rose higher and higher, flinging its fitful gleams across the
sands, where the boys were busy.
The recent voyage had taken away all fear of the sea even from Cuthbert,
who was already tied to the front of the cart, with Beauty's reins in
his hand, holding him in with all his might. Edwin, with his teeth set
and a white look about his lips, had seized the horse's head, and was
backing him into the water. Splash, splash into the wall of wave, rising
higher and higher at every step, and almost lifting Edwin off his feet.
Then he swung himself into the cart by Cuthbert's side. Beauty felt his
firmer grasp as the reins changed hands, and turning his head with a
look in his resolute eye that showed him a willing partner in the daring
plan, he reversed the position, choosing rather to breast the opposing
billows. Edwin let him have his way, and with a dash and a snort he
plunged into their midst, carrying the boys full fifteen yards into the
raging sea. The brothers clung to the cart as the waves dashed in their
faces. Caps were gone in a moment. The cart was filling. Beauty held
his head high above the water, and struggled on another yard or so.
Then Edwin felt they must go no further, and turned the cart round.
It was no easy matter to make Beauty stand. His natural sense of
danger, his high intelligence, his increasing love for the boys, all
prompted him to bring them out of the water, not to stay in it. He was
bent on rushing back to dry ground, as Cuthbert had predicted. The boys
thundered "Whoa, whoa!" with all the endearing epithets they were wont
to lavish upon him in his stable. He was brought to a stand at last,
and Edwin, raising himself on the side of the cart, looked round for the
boat.
It was nowhere. His heart sank cold within him.
"O Cuth, we are too late, too late!" he groaned.
Then Audrey's fire sent up a brighter blaze, and hope leaped lightly
into life once more, and he cried out joyfully, "I see it!" but stopped
abruptly, almost drawing back his words with bated breath.
The momentary glimpse had shown him the luckless boat, blown along by
the force of the wind, without the help of an oar, dash into the
bursting crest of a giant roller. It flung the boat across the line of
boiling foam. The men in it, finding their oars useless, were kicking
off their boots, preparing for a swim. He knew it by their attitudes.
He seized the pole they had put in the cart to use as a signal. It was
a willow sapling, torn up by its roots, which they had found when they
were gathering the firewood.
Cuthbert had peeled off the bark at the thin end, whilst Edwin had
twisted its pliant boughs into a strong hoop, to tie at the end of his
rope.
As Edwin raised it high above his head--a tall, white wand, which must
be conspicuous in the surrounding darkness--he saw the boat turn over,
the angry waves rush on, and all was gone. A cry of dismay broke from
the brothers' lips: "Lord help us, or they perish!"
"I could not have done this without you, Cuth. We are only two boys, but
now is our hour."
Edwin had learned a great deal from the sailors' stories during their
voyage, and he had been a crack kite-flier on the playground at his
English school; so that he was quite alive to the importance of keeping
his rope free from entanglement, which really is the vital point in
throwing a rope at sea. He had laid it carefully on the bottom of the
cart, fold upon fold, backwards and forwards, and Cuth had stood upon it
to keep it in place. The hoop lay on the top of the coil, and to the
hoop he had tied the plaid-scarf from his own neck, to serve it as a
sail.
The paralyzing fear came over him now that whilst they were doing all
this the time for help had gone by. "But we won't stop trying," he
said, "if it seems ever so hopeless; God only knows."
He took his brother's place on the coil of rope, and unfolding a yard or
two, flung the hoop from him, taking aim at the spot where the boat had
capsized. The wind caught the scarf and bore the hoop aloft; Edwin let
his rope go steadily, fold after fold. Would it carry it straight?
Would the men see his scarf fluttering in the wind? He felt sure a hand
might catch the hoop if they only saw it. But, alas, it was so small!
He leaned against his brother back to back, and if the hot tears came it
was because he was only a boy. Cuthbert put a hand behind him. There
was comfort to him in the touch. One burning drop just trickled on his
thumb.
"What, you crying!" he exclaimed; "is not praying better?"
"God have mercy on us!" burst from Edwin's lips; and Cuthbert echoed
back the gasping words. Had they ever prayed like that before? All,
all that was in them seemed to pour itself forth in that moment of
suspense, when God alone could hear.
[Illustration: A PERILOUS RESCUE.]
The rope tightened in Edwin's grasp; something had clutched it at last.
The tug had come. Would his knots give way? He was faint with the fear
that his work was not well done--not strong enough to stand the strain
which he felt was increasing every moment. It seemed to him, as he
watched with every sense alert and tried to its uttermost, that each
successive earthquake shock, as it heaved the land, sent a corresponding
wave across the sea. One of these had carried out his hoop, and he knew
he must wait until it subsided to draw his rope in, or it might snap
like pack-thread under the awful strain.
"O Edwin, I am getting so tired!" said little Cuth, in a tone of such
utter exhaustion it went like a knife through his brother to hear him.
"Only another minute," he replied; "just another minute--if we can hold
on."
The longed-for lull was coming. Edwin gave Beauty his head; but the
poor horse was stiffened with standing, and almost refused to move.
Then Edwin tied himself to the cart.
"O Beauty, if you fail us we are done!"
The despairing cry roused the torpid energies of the horse. With a
stretch and a snort he tugged and strained, dragging his load a yard or
two landwards. A man's head appeared above the water. The joy of the
sight brought back hope and capability. It was but a spasmodic effort;
but Beauty caught the thrill of joy animating the boyish voices,
cheering him on to renewed exertions. The wheels splashed round in the
water; a cloud of muddy spray rose between Edwin and the rescued man.
He could not see the sailor's face. The fire was dying. Was all the
wood they had gathered--all that great heap--burnt up at last?
Audrey raked the dying brands together, and a fresh flame shot upwards,
and by its welcome radiance Edwin was aware of two hands working their
way along the tightened rope, one over the other, towards the cart.
The tightened rope! Yes; that was proof that some one had grasped the
hoop. In another moment that stranger hand was clasping Edwin's in the
darkness that was following fast upon those fitful flames.
"Hold hard!" shouted a stentorian voice, and a man got up into the cart
beside him. A deep-drawn breath, a muttered prayer, and the strong,
powerful hands clasped over Edwin's, and began to draw in the rope.
Not a word was said, for the boys had no voice left to make themselves
heard. The last shout of joy to Beauty had left them spent and faint.
The stranger, surprised at the smallness and feebleness of the hand he
now let go, gently pushed the boy aside and took his place. Edwin
leaned against the front of the cart beside his brother, dead beat and
scarcely conscious of anything but a halo of happiness radiating from
the blessed consciousness which found expression in a murmured, "Cuth,
old boy, we've done it."
The reins fell slack on Beauty's neck, but the good horse needed no
guiding. He seemed aware that two more men got up into the cart, and
when a pause followed he gave his proud head a triumphant toss, and
brought them up out of the water. There were three men in the cart and
twice as many more holding on by the rope.
Audrey ran down from the dying fire to meet them.
A strange, unnatural kind of twilight, a something weird and ghastly,
belonging to neither day nor night, seemed to pervade the land, and shed
a sepulchral gleam across the men's pale faces. Audrey pushed open the
door of the hut and beckoned to the sailors to enter.
They gathered round her, shaking the salt water from their dripping
garments, and uttering broken exclamations of surprise and thankfulness.
She saw a boy in the midst of the group limping painfully. As she
hurried up to his assistance, she discovered that it was neither Edwin
nor Cuthbert; but he grasped her outstretched hand so thankfully she
could not withdraw it. There was a wildness in the alarm with which she
began to ask them for her brothers the men could not mistake. They gave
the forlorn girl an almost unanimous assurance that they knew nothing of
her brothers. For the men clinging to the rope had not seen the boys in
the cart. "But," added one heartily, "we'll protect you, for there is
wild work afoot somewhere to-night. We have heard the cannonading,
broadside after broadside, or we should not have gone rock-hunting in
the dark. It is fool's work--you can give it no better name--coasting
along a dangerous shore, with a sky too black for moon or star to
penetrate."
"Yon's the little maid who fed the beacon," said another. "I saw her
move across the front of the fire and throw her sticks upon it. God
bless her! Every minute I thought we should see her blown over into the
sea."
"Not me, not me," interposed poor Audrey.
Getting free in her desperation, and pressing between the sailors, she
ran towards Beauty, who was slowly lagging round to the back of the hut.
"If my brothers are missing," she cried, "they must have been washed out
of the cart." She clasped her hands before her eyes to shut out the
sight of the drowning boys which imagination was picturing, and so
failed to perceive the two weary heads leaning against the side of the
cart. It was but a moment of agony, one of the unfounded alarms which
always cluster round a real danger and follow the shock of dread like
its shadow.
"Edwin, Edwin! where are you?" she cried.--"Cuthbert, Cuthbert! come to
me!"