THE WRECK
"KEEP close in our wake, Simpson," cautioned Atherton, as the two
boats cleared the end of the stone quay. "Give way, lads; long easy
strokes."
It was an eerie experience to the two boats' crews, rowing in a dense
mist that seemed to have a most bewildering effect upon all save
Atherton, who, implicitly trusting to the small magnetic needle, knew
that it was a matter of impossibility to miss hitting Seal Island
somewhere. By having to frequently pull the starboard yoke-line
Atherton realised that without the aid of the compass his boat would
inevitably have described a wide circle, since the rowers on that
side were pulling a stronger stroke than those on the port side.
"Rocks ahead!" shouted Everest, who was perched in the bows of the
"Otters" boat.
"Stop pulling: backwater," ordered Atherton, and soon both boats were
lying five yards apart and within twice that distance of the lee side
of Seal Island.
"We've missed the landing, Atherton," announced Simpson.
"We have," agreed the Leader. "And what is more, I don't know on
which side of it we are. One part of the cliff is very much like
another. Look here, Simpson, you take your boat to the right, and
I'll steer mine to the left: we cannot be very much out. The first
one that finds the landing must give a hail."
The boats separated, both skirting the shore in opposite directions.
"There's some one rowing," exclaimed Everest. "Right ahead."
"I think it's Simpson's boat," replied Atherton. "It is difficult to
locate sound in a fog."
Nearer and nearer came the sound, till Atherton knew that he was
mistaken.
"Boat ahoy!" he bawled.
There was no reply. Whoever it was scorned to take notice of the
hail, and the splash of the oars grew fainter and fainter.
"Here's the landing," announced Everest. "Why, that boat must have
put off from there."
"Hope the fellow's honest," muttered Atherton, "or our camp might be
ransacked. I didn't like his churlish manner in not replying. Shout
to Simpson, Phillips, and let him know we've found the place."
As soon as the boats were hauled up and properly secured and their
gear removed, the Scouts wended their way up the zig-zag path to the
camp.
Atherton gave a sigh of relief to find that nothing had been
interfered with. Speedily the tents were opened, the cooks tackled
the kitchen fire, while foragers were sent to collect fuel and cover
it up so that it might be dry for the morning.
As soon as the belated meal was over and the "camp fire" fairly in
swing, Atherton called Simpson aside.
"What do you say to keeping watch all night?" he asked. "It may be a
useless job, but there is something not quite right. I want to find
out who the mysterious visitor to the Island is, and what he comes
here for."
"I'm game," answered the Leader of the "Wolves." "We'll pick one
fellow from each patrol and take two hours each; that will carry us
through till sunrise, and I don't fancy any night prowler will be
knocking about after that."
"Beastly rotten night to keep watch, though," commented the "Otters"
Leader. "The mist is turning to rain. Tell those fellows to pile on
more wood, make sure the tent pegs are firm and the guy-ropes eased
off. They had better get into the tents before they get drenched."
With the rain the wind rose. At first it was content with moaning
fitfully, but before nine o'clock it was literally howling, the
explosive fog-signals still maintaining their accompaniment every
five minutes.
"What's that noise?" asked Armstrong, in the interval between two
stirring choruses.
The Scouts listened. Above the roar of the wind and the loud tattoo
of the rain upon the drum-like canvas of the tents came a weird
screech, like the shriek of a human being in agony.
"There it is again!" exclaimed Baker. "Perhaps some one has fallen
over the cliff."
"It's too loud for a man's voice," said Simpson.
"All the same I don't like it," remarked Reggie Scott, in a subdued
voice.
"Come on, kid, you're not afraid?" asked his Leader encouragingly, as
he patted the Tenderfoot on the back.
"No, I'm not afraid," replied Scott. "But I wish that horrid noise
would stop. There it goes again."
"Pick your man, Simpson," said Atherton, in a low voice. "I've spoken
to Mayne and he's game. Phillips will remain in charge of our tent,
and I suppose you will let Neale know that he will be responsible for
order in the 'Wolves'' tent."
"Think it's any use?" asked the "Wolves'" Leader. "It's raining and
blowing great guns, and a boat could hardly get across. We may be
isolated here for days."
"Won't matter so long as the grub holds out," replied Atherton,
cheerfully. "We'll stick to our plan. With greatcoats on we shall be
all right."
As soon as the other occupants of the two tents were asleep, the two
Leaders, with Mayne and Coventry major, donned their heavy coats and
made their way down to the landing-place. It was hard work to prevent
themselves being forced down the steep path at a break-neck pace, for
the force of the wind behind them was terrific, but lower down the
overhanging rocks afforded excellent protection.
"Got your flash lamp?" asked Simpson.
"I should jolly well think I have," answered Atherton. "Have you?"
"Yes; but, I say, will the tents stand it? It is blowing up there."
"They would have been down before this, I fancy," remarked Atherton.
"There's that rummy noise again. What on earth can it be?"
"We'll find out to-morrow, if it keeps on," said Simpson. "Now,
Coventry, you keep first watch: two hours, my fine fellow. We'll
snooze in the hollow of the rocks. If anything suspicious occur,
rouse us."
Sheltering as best he could, Coventry major took up his stand and
commenced his lonesome vigil. He might well have been spared the
task, for, although the Island acted as a kind of natural breakwater,
the waves were beating so furiously on the landward side of the bay
that it would be a matter of sheer impossibility for one or even
three men to launch a boat.
At the end of his "trick" Coventry was relieved by Mayne, and he,
too, cooled his heels in watchful inactivity. Atherton followed, and
at length came Simpson's turn.
"Rain's knocking off," he remarked, as he took his chum's post.
"That's one blessing."
"It will be daylight in less than an hour and a half. As soon as it
is fairly light we will get back to our tents and have a decent sleep
till half-past six," said Atherton. "I've neither seen nor heard a
sign of anyone. There's only the howling of the wind, the noise of
the fog-signals, and that peculiar shrieking sound to cheer you up,
old man."
Once or twice to the lad's slightly overstrained nerves, Simpson
imagined he saw something move, but unwilling to rouse his comrades
he kept still long enough to make certain that his sense of sight had
played him false. He was tired. Several times he caught himself
dozing: his head would fall forward, only to recover itself with a
jarring jerk as he became aware that he was on the point of sleeping
at his post.
Suddenly, at no great distance off, came the heavy report of a gun.
The noise brought Atherton and his two companions out of their
rough-and-ready shelter, and hardly able to realise what was amiss
they rejoined Simpson.
"It was a gun; a vessel in distress off the back of the Island, I
fancy," said the latter.
"Back to the camp for all you're worth," exclaimed Atherton. "We must
turn the others out, and see if we can be of use."
But there was no need to arouse the rest of the two patrols. The
detonation, sounding much louder on the higher ground than it had in
the hollow where Atherton and his fellow-watchers had been
sheltering, had effectually alarmed the Scouts, who, under Phillips'
orders, had turned out in greatcoats, ready for action.
"Bring those ropes," shouted Atherton, striving to make himself
understood above the howling of the wind, "and the large pulleys.
There it goes again."
A vivid flash, outlining the crest of Seal Island, was immediately
followed by the report, while simultaneously an answering rocket
soared skywards from the coastguard station at Refuge Point. This was
acknowledged by the lighthouse on Beware Point, and a message
transmitted to Padstow summoning the lifeboat.
Bending to the storm the Scouts, bearing their gear, doubled towards
the seaward side of the Island, in the direction indicated by the
discharge of the gun.
Dawn was just breaking as they gained the edge of the cliffs. Below
them, with her bows driven hard against an outlying rock, was a
steamer of about eight hundred tons. Her funnel and masts had gone by
the board, her foremast showing a stump of about ten feet above the
deck. Cataracts of white water were pouring over her, while cowering
on the fo'c'sle were about twenty men.
"What can we do?" asked Simpson anxiously. "We can't get a rope on
board, and the cliffs are too steep to climb."
"Make fast the rope round me, old chap," said Atherton calmly. "I'm
going to look over the edge to see what it is like down there."
Thus secured, the Leader of the "Otters" crawled over till he was
able to command a view of the base of the cliffs.
The outlook was not promising. In the grey dawn the kelp-covered
rocks were barely distinguishable from the water that lashed itself
against the bulwarks of Seal Island. Close to the foot of the cliffs,
and immediately below the place on which he was lying, Atherton
descried a ledge about twenty feet in breadth. Although slippery with
spray this flat-topped rock was sufficiently high to be out of reach
of the actual waves. From it other lower ledges ran seaward, and
between two of these the ill-fated steamer had piled herself up on
the rocks.
"Simpson," said Atherton, hurriedly, "we must get half a dozen of our
fellows down there. There we may be of use. Signal to the ship and
tell them to try and send a rope ashore. It is impossible for us to
heave a line to them in the face of this gale. Send down half a dozen
staves after us: they may come in useful."
While Simpson was flag-wagging the message, Atherton, Phillips,
Green, Mayne, Everest and Baker were lowered down to the ledge, the
two Tenderfoots of the "Otters" remaining with the "Wolves." Before
the last Scout was down a man was observed standing in the bows of
the wrecked craft. Wave after wave broke over him, but secured by a
lashing he worked desperately in order to form a means of
communication with the shore with a coil of rope and a life-buoy.
"Look out!" cautioned Atherton, as the life-buoy was hove into the
raging waters. "We must get hold of that, somehow."
Jack Phillips, ever resourceful, had already uncoiled about thirty
feet of thin but strong line, and had bent one end to the centre of
his staff. Steadied by his companions the Second of the "Otters"
stood on the brink of the ledge, his staff held harpoon-wise, ready
to make a thrust at the life-buoy, that was momentarily drifting
nearer and nearer the shore.
Up went his arm; the ash pole darted obliquely towards the crest of a
wave on which the buoy was being swept. He missed the mark by less
that a foot, and the life-buoy, left by the receding wave, was jammed
in an almost vertical position between two jagged rocks.
"I must wait till the next wave shifts it," he bawled to his
comrades, for the roar of the wind and waves made ordinary
conversation inaudible.
With a smother of foam the next breaker hurled itself against the
cliff. It was lower than the preceding one and failed to dislodge the
life-buoy from its resting-place.
"Has it gone?" shouted Atherton.
"No," replied Phillips, "I wish it would." Then seized by an
inspiration, he cast off the line from his staff, tied it round his
body and called to his chums to lower away. The next moment he was on
his way down to the stranded life-buoy.
It was a distance of only ten feet, but every inch of that space was
fraught with danger. Not only was there a possibility of a huge wave
dashing the young Scout against the rocks with resistless force, but
there were risks of losing his hold on the slippery wall and of the
cord that steadied him being unable to withstand the sudden strain.
Without mishap Phillips came within reach of the object of his
dangerous task. He grasped the life-buoy, and shouted to the Scouts
on the ledge to haul away. To his consternation there was no attempt
to raise him to safety, while on the other hand a tremendous wave was
bearing down upon him.
Phillips' first impulse was to let go the buoy and swarm up the rope
hand over hand. On second thoughts he realised that it was his life
against the lives of all the crew of the doomed ship, and to
relinquish the means of communication at this juncture would be
cowardly and selfish.
Planting his heels firmly into a niche in the rocks and setting his
shoulders against the natural wall, Phillips unhesitatingly cast off
the cord round his waist and bent it on to the life-buoy. The wave
was now barely thirty yards off, and to the inexperienced lad it
looked mountainous.
"Never say die," he muttered between his tightly clenched teeth; but
all the same he realised that it was the tightest corner he had yet
been into in the course of the sixteen years of his life.
Then a strange thing happened. The huge breaker was preceded by
another of considerable less height. Pounding against the rocks the
first wave rebounded and met the dangerous one just as it was on the
point of curling ere it broke. The collision was insufficient to stop
the oncoming wave, but it considerably checked its impetus. It broke;
the solid water swirled over the lad's legs till it reached above his
knees, while for the next few seconds he was gasping for breath as he
swallowed the salt-laden air.
The work he had undertaken being accomplished, Phillips hesitated no
longer. Hand over hand he dragged himself, encumbered though he was
by his sodden clothing, towards the ledge, till to his unbounded
relief he felt his wrists grasped by his companions.
"Where's the buoy?" asked Atherton.
"Haul away," gasped Phillips, "you'll find it," and too exhausted to
say more he staggered to the base of the main cliff and sat down to
recover his breath.
Foot by foot the saturated rope came home till the "Otters" hauled
ashore a large block, through which was rove a heavier rope.
"It's a kind of life-saving line, lads," exclaimed Atherton. "Make
fast the pulley as quickly as you can. Wedge these staves between
these two rocks. See they don't slip: they'll stand the strain."
As soon as this was done a message was signalled to the ship
announcing that all was in readiness.
Without delay those on board began to haul on the endless rope, and
the Scouts saw a man, seated in a life-buoy, leave the stranded
vessel.
The next instant he was buried in a white-crested wave. The strain
upon the ropes was terrific, but they stood the test right well, and
as the breaker swept ahead the man was found to be still clinging to
the buoy. Thrice ere he was hauled to a place of safety he was
overtaken by the waves, till quite exhausted the first survivor was
assisted to the most sheltered position on the ledge.
Again and again the buoy made its double journey, and each time it
returned with one of the crew. Ropes were lowered from the summit of
the cliff, and as the rescued men were hauled up by the "Wolves" they
were escorted to the camp, whither the three Tenderfoots had
previously been sent to prepare hot coffee.
Four men only remained on board. The hull was already showing signs
of parting amidships. The tide had fallen considerably, and the task
of hauling the buoy with its living burdens up to the ledge
continually became harder.
One of the four, slipping into the buoy, began the hazardous journey.
Half the distance was accomplished in safety, when a huge wave swept
over and passed the doomed vessel.
"Quite exhausted, the first survivor was assisted to the most
sheltered position on the ledge."--_Page_ 114.
The Scouts felt the strain suddenly relax. When the breaker had
passed, their worst fears were realised. The life-line had parted,
the man in the buoy was at the mercy of the waves, and the retreat of
the remaining three was cut off: