WHAT HAPPENED ON THE RAFT
Hibbert, a picture of terror, turned and fled towards the river, and
Plunger and Harry, imagining for the moment that they had been set upon
by real savages, promptly followed his example. The dusky figures
followed in pursuit, still yelling their outlandish cries.
"Ka-pei, ka-pei! Houp, houp! O-jib-e-way! Koo-oo, koo-oo!"
Hibbert ran as he had never run before in his life. Terror lent speed to
his feet. He had got the start of his companions, so that they only drew
up to him as he reached the river.
"Quick--the raft!" shouted Plunger. "They'll be on us in a minute."
It was the raft for which Hibbert was making.
"Ka-pei, ka-pei! Houp, Houp! O-jib-e-way! Koo-oo, koo-oo!"
The cries of the pursuers drew nearer and nearer. Hibbert reached the
raft and leapt on it.
"Undo the rope! I'll push off!" panted Plunger.
Harry never thought of the promise Plunger had made--that he should punt
the raft back. His only desire was that they should put the river
between them and their pursuers as quickly as possible. In less than a
moment he had undone the rope which bound the raft to the bank, and
leapt to Plunger's side. Brief as the space of time, it had enabled the
foremost of their pursuers to reach the bank.
"Push off, Freddy," cried Harry.
Plunger pushed off in desperation. Too late! The foremost of the
pursuers had followed them on to the raft. Plunger could see the dusky
face looking into his. The raft had floated a little way from the bank.
With another unearthly cry three more of the savage-looking figures
leapt on.
The raft swayed ominously. Plunger made a wild endeavour to push further
out into the stream. The raft lurched forward. There was a cry of
horror, a splash, and the next moment three of the boys--Plunger,
Hibbert, and one of "the savages"--were struggling in the water.
The impetus given to the raft had taken it out into midstream, and when
the three rose to the surface, it was at some distance from them. By the
ducking in the water the paint of the "noble savage" was running down
his face, and Plunger, in that terrible moment, recognized that it was
Baldry.
Plunger knew little of swimming. Fortunately, Baldry knew more of it
than he did, and was able to clutch him by the arm and hold him up. But
those on the raft saw with horror that they had floated right away from
Hibbert, and that was he drowning before their eyes.
Harry looked round for the punting-hole, in the hope that he might go to
the aid of the drowning boy. Alas! Plunger had carried the pole with him
when he had fallen into the river, and it was now floating down the
stream at some distance from them.
"The Camel's drowning!" gasped Harry.
The boys on the raft saw that he was. They had caught sight of the white
face as it rose for the second time to the surface. And they stood
there, transfixed horrified, at the tragedy that was taking place before
them. Unable to find the punting-pole, Harry would have leapt into the
river, but Sedgefield, one of the "savages" who had jumped upon the
raft, was just in time to clutch him by the arm and hold him back.
"Look, Moncrief! That's Percival, isn't it?"
Harry stood, trembling in every limb, on the edge of the raft, and
followed the direction of Sedgefield's finger. Yes, Percival it was. Cut
off from the games of his companions, left entirely to himself, he had
brought out his rod and line to pass an hour or so angling. While thus
occupied, he had heard the shouts and cries raised by the "savages" on
the opposite bank.
"What's wrong?" he asked himself, as he stood quite still and listened.
The shouting grew louder; the yells more unearthly, and in a tongue, as
it seemed to him, he had never heard before.
Dropping his rod, he raced along the bank, just in time to to see from a
distance the raft push off with the boys upon it, and the disaster that
followed, as it floated further into the stream. He paused for an
instant as he breathlessly watched the scene; then raced forward at full
speed, flung off his jacket, waistcoat, and boots, and struck out, hand
over hand, to where Hibbert was struggling in the water.
Fortunately, Paul was a powerful swimmer. Even in his cradle his father
had taken his little hand in his large one, and, while looking lovingly
in his face, had said to the wife who sat beside him:
"The son of a sea-dog, the son of a sea-dog! He must never know the fear
of water."
Alas! it was the cruel water which had carried off the father, but the
son had grown up true to his wish--he had never known the fear of water.
So he had become a bold and powerful swimmer. With a swift, sweeping
side-stroke he reached Hibbert's side, just as he was sinking for the
last time. Clutching the drowning boy by the hair, he held him up; then,
turning on his back, he drew him to his chest, and, kicking out with his
feet, soon reached the bank.
Placing the boy gently on the turf, Paul gazed anxiously into his face.
The eyes were closed; the lips ghastly blue; the heart seemed still.
"Hibbert, Hibbert!" cried Paul, as he tried to restore animation.
No answer came to his pleading cry. The eyes still remained closed. A
big fear took possession of Paul. Had the eyes closed never to open
more? Had help come when it was too late? Was the little chap dead?
Notwithstanding the fear that seized him, he did not relax his efforts,
and presently, to his great joy, the lids fluttered, then opened, and
the eyes went up to his face. They were dazed, bewildered. Slowly a look
of recognition came into them.
"Per--Percival!" came in a feeble whisper from the lips; then the lids,
as though exhausted by the effort they had made, closed again.
Danger was not yet past, but the boy lived, and Paul, breathing more
freely, looked round to see what had happened to the others. It had been
a near thing with Baldry and Plunger. Baldry had supported Plunger for
some time, but neither had been able to reach the raft or the bank;
while those on the raft were unable to move to their assistance. The
strength of both was, therefore, giving out rapidly.
"Let go of me, Baldry. Take care of yourself!" gasped Plunger.
"Shan't Freddy," answered Baldry feebly. "Sit tight!"
Even in that terrible moment, with death looming grimly before him,
Plunger smiled faintly. Baldry's advice seemed so ludicrous. Sit tight!
What was he to sit tight on? They grew fainter every moment.
"God, help us!" was the prayer that came from the heart of Baldry.
Human help seemed to have failed them. So, at least, it seemed; but
Paul, looking up from Hibbert at this moment, his heart gladdened at
hearing his name, saw the dilemma in which they were placed--the peril
in which they stood. Unless assistance soon reached them, they must go
under.
What was to be done? He could not see them drown before his eyes.
Yet--yet, if he were to leave Hibbert, what would happen to him? It was
true that he had opened his eyes and spoken, but perhaps that was only
the last feeble flicker of the candle. Paul's hand went quickly to the
boy's heart. It was still beating, though feebly. Again his eyes went to
where Baldry and Plunger were making a desperate fight for life. Three
lives were trembling in the balance.
The prayer that had come from Baldry's lips a moment since came from
Paul's.
"God, help me! What am I to do?"
He gave another swift glance into Hibbert's face. It seemed to smile at
him, as though in answer to his prayer. "Go," it seemed to say. The
next instant Paul plunged into the river, swimming towards the two boys,
with the same swift stroke which had enabled him to reach Hibbert's
side.
As he cut through the water, his right hand struck against something.
His fingers closed round it. It was the punting-pole that Plunger had
lost, and which had been partly responsible for the accident. God had
answered his prayer. He had helped him. It would have been impossible
for him to have saved the two fast-drowning boys by his own unaided
efforts. Now it was possible.
"Catch hold!" he cried, as he directed one end of the pole to Baldry and
Plunger.
They eagerly gripped it; then, grasping the other end, Paul swam to
shore. It was a strange freight he was towing--two human lives. And his
heart seemed beating like the valve of a steam-tug as he reached the
bank and pulled his freight ashore.
"You're a brick--that's what you are, Percival!" were the first words
that Plunger gasped, as he struggled, with the water dripping from him,
up the bank.
Baldry's eyes had gone to the still figure lying on the grass.
"It's--it's the Camel! What--what's wrong with him?" he asked, as he
stood gazing at the still form. "Is--is he dead?"
"I hope not--I think not," said Paul, as he raised the slight figure in
his arms. "I must leave you fellows to look after yourselves."
So saying, holding Hibbert close to him, he hastened along the road that
led to the school. Once or twice he paused to make sure that Hibbert's
heart was beating. Yes; it was still beating, though feebly: having
reassured himself, he hurried on again with his burden.
The road seemed longer to him than it had ever been before; but at
length he drew near, and his eyes went up to the first thing that a
Garside boy usually looked to--the old flag.
He could scarcely believe his eyes. Were they mocking him, or was he
under a delusion? The flag did not seem to be flying there.
"My eyes are playing tricks with me," he thought as he hurried
breathless into the grounds.
A few steps more and he met Stanley. He stopped and regarded Paul with
surprise. He advanced a step, as though with the intention of speaking
to him, but quickly changing his mind, went on his way. Paul clenched
his teeth hard and staggered on with his burden. Luckily it was only a
light one.
Reaching the schoolhouse door, he met Waterman coming from it.
"Percival! What are you fagging with there?" For once Waterman was
genuinely roused. "An accident? Why, it's young Hibbert. What's
happened?"
"He's had a ducking in the river. Run for Dr. Clack--as quickly as you
can."
Waterman needed no second bidding. His natural indolence of manner,
under which was hidden much more energy than people gave him credit for,
vanished on the instant. He darted off at the top of his speed. Paul did
not relinquish his burden till, under the direction of the matron, he
had placed it on a bed in the sick dormitory.
"A doctor must be fetched," said the matron, as Hibbert's eyes remained
closed, in spite of her efforts to bring him back to consciousness.
"Waterman's gone for Dr. Clack."
"That's right. The poor little fellow's in a bad way. Oh, you boys--you
boys!" came in a sigh from the matron's lips. "Always in mischief. Who
pushed him into the river?"
"Nobody pushed him. He fell in, so far as I could see."
Paul did not tell her that two more Gargoyles had fallen into the river
at the same time, for fear of alarming her still more.
"Why didn't you stop him from playing about on the river? You're old
enough to know better," said Mrs. Trounce wrathfully.
Paul stood silent under this rebuke. He had not explained all the
circumstances of the accident--so far, at least, as he knew them--for
fear of implicating the other boys. He had caught a glimpse of the
savage "get-up" of Baldry and his companions, and the black stains on
Hibbert's face, which had only been partially washed away by the water.
He guessed, therefore, that there was more in the accident than at first
met the eye.
"If he dies we shall have the police here a-makin' all sorts of
inquiries," continued the angry matron. "And I shouldn't wonder if they
took you off to the lock-up, and brought you up before a judge and jury.
And serve you right, ses I. You elder boys want a lesson. Instead of
stopping the little fellow from playing on the river, you encouraged
him, I expect. I know the way you big boys have. You use the paws of the
little ones to pull out the roast chestnuts. It's disgraceful, I call
it."
Thus the matron poured out the vials of her wrath on Paul's head, while
she busied herself at the same time in doing all she could to restore
the patient to consciousness. Her words fell unheeded on Paul's ears. He
was watching the face of Hibbert, and wondering whether the eyes would
ever open again, and look up to him as they had looked up to him on that
day when he had put his hand timidly on his shoulder and whispered:
"You look so wretched and miserable I could not help coming to you.
You're not angry with me, are you?"