AFLOAT
WHEN the wind blew the clouds away about midnight, and the moon came
out, the cold white light falling upon a lonely high road revealed a
wretched figure toiling on with weary, dragging steps, his garments
heavy with rain.
This miserable tramp was Tad. He still carried his satchel, but that
too was drenched, and when he stopped and groped in it for some food
to stay the pangs of hunger, he pulled out only a squashy mess of
pulp which had once called itself a penny roll, but which now bore no
resemblance whatever—not even a family likeness—to that dainty.
With a sigh and a glance of disgust, Tad threw the sop into the ditch
at the side of the road, and plodded on, splashing recklessly through
the deep mud and puddles. The road, bounded on the right by cornfields,
had run along the cliff keeping close to the coastline. But now the way
cut straight across the shoulder of a promontory, and began to dip to a
gorge on the further side, between mighty jagged walls where some long
ago convulsion of nature had broken the cliff line of the shore.
This gully widened towards the beach, ending there, above high-water
mark, in soft, deep, white sand which gleamed like silver in the
moonlight.
To the heavy sleepful eyes of the traveller, the spot looked inviting
enough. Sheltered from the wind, dry under foot, and as lonely and
deserted as ever a fugitive and a vagabond could desire, this rocky,
sand-carpeted nook seemed a very haven of refuge to poor Tad. Slowly
and cautiously picking his way among the irregularities of the gorge,
the forlorn lad clambered down, and presently found himself in the
sandy corner which promised so welcome a refuge.
Here, by the white light of the moon, he crawled in and out among the
rocks till he found a deep bed of dry sand with large boulders all
round it, so that it was quite a sheltered nest, shutting out the keen
autumn wind, and screening him too from observation, had there been
anyone to see.
Here, then, nestling down among the rocks, and burrowing into the sand
like a rabbit, poor Tad, lulled by the quiet, monotonous wash of the
waves on the shingle lower down, fell sound asleep—so sound that he
heard nothing, saw nothing. Till in broad daylight, he awoke suddenly
with the feeling of something cold against his cheek. And starting up,
he found a little rough cur gazing inquisitively into his face, with
its comical head on one side. It was the little, chill, black nose of
the animal rubbing against his cheek that had waked him.
Tad sprang to his feet alarmed. The sun was high in the heavens; the
hour could not be far from noon. He had almost slept the clock round.
Only half awake still, he stared about him with frightened eyes.
Where there was a dog there might also be people—people who might
have heard his story, and would perhaps recognise him for the hunted
young scapegrace who was supposed to have done away with his little
half-brother.
Hither and thither, with panic-stricken gaze, peered poor Tad, but no
human form was in sight. He walked a few steps further to get a wider
view of the shore. Rounding a corner of rock, he spied, in the cleft
of a boulder, a gleam of colour. As he came nearer, he saw that the
gleam of colour was the corner of a red bandanna kerchief tied round
something, in the form of a bundle. But as the boy—cramped and stiff
with lying for twelve hours in damp things—stooped painfully to examine
the bundle, the dog leaped past him, and lay down by the rock with his
forepaws on the knot of the kerchief. Made bold by hunger, and feeling
sure the bundle contained food, Tad laid his hand upon it and tried
to lift it, but as he did so, the dog growled and showed his teeth.
Evidently the animal had been sent to guard the bundle, and the owner
of both would be back presently.
By this time the boy was perfectly ravenous with hunger, and ready to
do anything for a meal. He did not, however, wish to run the risk of
being bitten, and so he at first tried to divert the dog's attention
by throwing a stick towards the water for him to fetch. But the sharp
little cur saw through his design, and would not budge an inch.
Then Tad took up an ocean cat-o'-nine-tails of tough, leathery seaweed,
and tried to frighten the poor little beast away, but it only whined,
and crouched still closer to the rock.
Made quite desperate by the little animal's faithful resistance, Tad
at last dragged an old shirt out of his satchel, threw the clinging
folds over the dog's head and body, tied the sleeves together round
the little creature, and rolled it, struggling and snapping vainly,
into a long, bolster-like bundle. This he laid down on the sand, with
two large stones on the outer folds to keep the dog from extricating
itself. Then he snatched up the red kerchief and unknotted it. Oh joy!
What a delightful dinner met the glad eyes of the famished lad. Several
thick slices of bread and butter, a couple of hard-boiled eggs, part of
the heel of a Dutch cheese, and a solid-looking, brown-crusted, seed
loaf, together with a tin flask of cold coffee.
Tad's first impulse was to sit right down, then and there, and gorge
himself with the food. But fear for his safety mastered even the
impulse of his hunger, and he remembered that the owner of the dog and
the red bundle would certainly be returning soon.
Looking about him, uncertain what to do for the best, the lad espied a
little boat, moored to a rock in shallow water, not very far from the
place where he was standing. And the idea occurred to him that he might
get to the boat by wading, row off to a little rocky islet about half a
mile out to sea, and—
"Then," said he to himself, "I shall be safe, and I'll have time to
think what to do next."
Another swift look round to see that no one was coming yet—then the boy
ran down the beach, waded into the water, scrambled into a boat, and at
once cast off the loop of string which held her to a jutting point of
the rock.
The tide had turned, and away slipped the boat on a receding wave, into
deeper water. For a few minutes Tad, in his great hunger, was so busy
discussing the contents of the red bundle, that he was conscious of
nothing else. But, as the first sharp pangs of famine were assuaged, he
glanced about him, and seeing that the tide and current were carrying
him away from the island, he threw down the remnants of his stolen
meal, so as to take up the oars, which he had not thought of before.
What were the boy's feelings when he found that there were no oars in
the boat at all; they must have been left on shore, together with the
sail and the boat-hook.
With an exclamation of fear and horror, Tad turned his eyes
despairingly towards the beach, hoping to see someone who would come in
another boat to his rescue, for his little craft, borne swiftly on the
ebb of the tide, was drifting steadily out to sea. But no—not a soul
was in sight anywhere on land, and not a fishing-smack upon the water,
far as the eye could reach.
Overwhelmed with despair at this new misfortune that had befallen
him, and perceiving dimly that this, like the others, was clearly the
outcome of his own wrong-doings, the poor lad in despair threw himself
down in the bottom of his drifting boat, sobbing and crying till he
fell asleep again from exhaustion; fell asleep rocked by the swaying
and heaving of the waters; hushed into a deep and dreamless rest by
their wash and whisper.