The Devil of the Sea
It was Sunday morning, the first Sunday morning after the arrival of
the American ladies at the house over the way,--for I took them to be
such, and, later, my conjecture proved not a very long way out.
It had been a week of hard work, petty annoyances and unsatisfying
little pleasures.
When I got up that morning, I felt jaded. As I ate my breakfast, I
became more so; but, as I went out on to the veranda to look upon the
beauties of Golden Crescent,--as I did every morning,--I came to myself.
This will never do, George Bremner! What you need is a swim!
I had hit it. Why had not I thought of it sooner? I undressed, and in
less time than it takes to retell it, I was in the water and striking
straight for Rita's Isle.
When I got there, I sunned myself on the rocks, as was my wont. I
looked across towards Clarks' farm, in the hope that I might espy Rita
somewhere between,--yet half hoping that I would not, for I was
browsing in the changing delights and sensations of the thoughts which
my solitariness engendered.
For one thing;--I had made the discovery the night before that Miss
Grant's Christian name was Mary.
I had found a torn label on the beach; one, evidently, from a
travelling bag. It read:
Miss Mary Grant,
Passenger
to Golden Crescent Bay, B. C. Canada.
ex San Francisco, per P. C. S. S. Co. to Vancouver.
That was all.
I lay on my back on the rocks, turning the name over in my mind.
Mary.... It did not sound very musical. It was a
plain-Jane-and-no-nonsense kind of name.
I started in to make excuses to myself for it. Why I did so, I have no
idea, but I discovered myself at it.
Mary was a Bible name. Yes!--it had that in its favour.
Famous queens had been called Mary. Yes!
The lady who owned the world-famous "little lamb" was called Mary.
And there was "Mary, Mary, quite contrary."
Why, of course! there were plenty of wonderful Marys. Notwithstanding,
I could not altogether shake off the feeling of regret that came to me
with the discovery that the young lady over the way was called Mary.
Had her name been Marguerite, or Dorothea, Millicent or even Rosemary,
I would have been contented and would have considered the name a
fitting one,--but to be common-or-garden Mary!
Oh, well!--what mattered it anyway? The name did not detract from the
attractiveness of her long, wavy, golden hair, nor did it change the
colour or lessen the transparency of her eyes. It did not interfere
with her deft fingers as they travelled so artistically over the
keyboard of her piano; although I kept wishing, in a half-wishful way,
that it could have changed her tantalising and exasperating demeanour
toward me.
From the beginning, we had played antagonists, and from the beginning
this playing antagonists had been distasteful to me.
What was it in me? I wondered,--what was it in her that caused the
mental ferment? I had not the slightest notion, unless it were a
resentfulness in me at being taken only for what I, myself, had chosen
to become,--store-clerk in an out-of-the-way settlement; or an
annoyance in her because one of my station should place himself on
terms of social equality with every person he happened to meet.
I was George Bremner to her. True! Then,--she was merely Mary Grant
to me. Mary Grant she was and Mary Grant she would doubtless remain,
until,--until somebody changed it to probably--Mary-something-worse.
As I day-dreamed, I felt the air about me more chilly than usual.
All the previous night, the sea had been running into the Bay choppy
and white-tipped, but now it was as level as the face of a mirror,
although everywhere on the surface of the water loose driftwood floated.
I let myself go, down the smooth shelving rock upon which I had been
lying. I dropped noiselessly far down into the deep water. I came up
and struck out for home,--all my previous lassitude gone from me.
I was swimming along leisurely, interested only in my thoughts and the
water immediately around me, when something a bit ahead attracted my
attention.
I was half-way between Rita's Isle and the shore at the time. The
object in front kept bobbing,--bobbing. At first, I took it to be part
of a semi-submerged log, but as I drew nearer I was quite surprised to
find that it was an early morning swimmer like myself. Nearer still,
and I discovered that the swimmer was a woman whose hair was bound
securely by a multi-coloured, heavy, silk muffler, such as certain
types of London Johnnies affected for a time.
Whoever the swimmer was, she had already gone at least half a mile, for
that was the distance to the nearest point of land and there was no
boat of any kind in her tracks.
Half a mile!--and another half-mile to go! Quite a swim for a lady!
Afraid lest it should prove more than enough for a member of what I had
always been taught to recognise as the more delicately constituted of
the sexes, I drew closer to the swimmer.
When only a few yards behind, she turned round with a startled
exclamation.
It was Mary Grant.
A chill ran along my spine. I became unreasonable immediately. What
right had she to run risks of this nature? Was there not plenty of
water for her to swim in near the shore where she would be within easy
hail of the land should she become exhausted?
Almost angrily, I narrowed the space between us.
She had recognised me at her first glimpse.
"Are you not rather far from the shore, Miss Grant?" I inquired bruskly.
"Thank you! Not a bit too far," she exclaimed, keeping up a steady
progress through the water.
She moved easily and did not betray any signs of weariness, except it
were in a catching of her voice, which almost every one has who talks
in the water after a long swim.
I could not but admire the power of her swimming, despite the evident
fact that she was not at all speedy.
"But you have no right to risk your life out here, when you do not know
the coast," I retorted.
"What right have you to question my rights, sir?" she answered
haughtily. "Please go away."
"I spoke for your own good," I continued. "There may be currents in
the Bay that you know nothing of. Besides, the driftwood itself is
dangerous this morning."
She did not reply for a bit, but kept steadily on.
When I took up my position a few yards to the left and on a level with
her, she turned on me indignantly.
"Excuse me, Sir Impertinence,--but do you take me for a child or a
fool? Are you one of those inflated individuals who imagines that
masculine man is the only animal that can do anything?"
"Far from it," I answered, "but as it so happens I am slightly better
acquainted with the Bay than you are and I merely wished you to benefit
from my knowledge."
"I am obliged to you for your interest, Mr. Bremner. However, I know
my own capabilities in the water, just as you know yours. Now,--if you
do not desire to spoil what to me has been a pleasure so far, you will
leave me."
I fell back a few yards, feeling that it would have given me extreme
pleasure to have had the pulling of her ears. And, more out of
cussedness,--as Jake would put it,--than anything else, I kept plodding
along slowly, neither increasing nor diminishing the distance between
us.
She was well aware of my proximity, and, at last, when we were little
more than a hundred yards from the point of the rock at the farthest
out end of the wharf, she wheeled on me like the exasperated sea-nymph
she was.
"I told you the other day, Mr. Bremner, that you could not hide the
fact that you were a gentleman. If you do not wish me to regret having
said that,--you will go away. I am perfectly capable of looking after
myself."
That was the last straw for me. I could see that she was a splendid
swimmer and that she was likely to make the shore without mishap,
although I could also tell that she was tiring.
"All right!--I'll go," I shouted. "But please be sensible,--there was
a heavy drift of wood and seaweed last night. The seaweed always
gathers in at your side of the wharf, and it is treacherous. Come this
way and land ashore from my side."
"Thank you! Mr. Bremner," she called back quite pleasantly, "but I came
this way and saw very little seaweed, so I fancy I shall be able to get
back."
Maddened at her for being so headstrong, I veered to the left of the
rocks, while she held on to the right.
I did not look in her direction again, but, with a fast, powerful
side-stroke, I shot ahead and soon the rocks divided us.
I was barely a hundred yards from the beach, when I heard, or fancied I
heard, just the faintest of inarticulate cries.
I listened, but it was not repeated. In the ordinary course, I would
have paid no heed, but something above and beyond me prompted me to
satisfy myself that all was right.
I swung round and started quickly for the point of the rocks again. In
a few seconds, I reached it and swam round to the other side. I
scanned the water between me and the shore,--it was as smooth as glass,
with only bobbing brown bulbs everywhere denoting the presence of the
seaweed.
I looked at the beach, and across to Miss Grant's house,--there was no
one in sight.
A feeling of horror crept over me. It was
improbable,--impossible,--that she could have reached the shore and got
inside the house so quickly.
I glanced over the surface of the water again.
Good God!--what was that?
Not fifty yards from the beach, and just at the point where the bobbing
brown bulbs were thickest, a small hand and an arm broke the surface of
the water. The fingers of the hand closed convulsively and a ring
glittered in the sunlight. Then the hand vanished.
With a vigorous crawl stroke,--keeping well on the surface for
safety,--I tore through that intervening space.
Oh!--how I thanked God for my exceptional ability in diving and
swimming under water.
As I got over the spot where I reckoned the hand had appeared, I became
cautious, for I knew the danger and I had no desire to get entangled
and thus end the chances of both of us. I sank down, slowly and
perpendicularly, keeping my knees bent and my feet together, feeling
carefully with my hands the while. The water was clear, but I could
see only a little way because of the seaweed.
How thickly it had gathered! Long, curling, tangling stuff!
Several times, I had to change my position quickly in order to avoid
being caught among the great, waving tendrils which, lower down,
interweaved like the meshes of a gigantic net.
I stayed under water as long as I dared, then with lungs afire I had to
come to the surface for air.
Desperately, I started again.
I swam several yards nearer to the rocks and sank once more. This
time, my groping hands found what they were seeking. Far down, almost
at the bottom of the sea, the body of Miss Grant lay.
I passed my hands over her. Her head and arms were clear of the awful
tangle, but both her legs were enmeshed.
Fighting warily and working like one possessed, I tore at the
slithering ropes and bands that bound her. I got one foot and leg
clear, then, with bursting lungs I attacked the other.
It seemed as if I should never get her free. How I fought and
struggled with that damnable sea-growth! fearing and fearing afresh
that I would have to make to the surface for air, or drown where I was.
As I worked frantically, I grew defiant, and decided to drown rather
than leave the girl who had already been far too long under water.
My head throbbed and hammered. My senses reeled and rallied, and
reeled again as I tore and struggled. Then, when hope was leaving me,
I felt something snap. I caught at the body beside me and I drifted
upward, and upward;--I did not know how or where.
The thought flashed through me;--this is the last. It is all over.
I opened my throat to allow the useless carbonised air to escape. I
was conscious of the act and knew its consequences:--a flood of salt
water in my lungs, then suffocation and death. But I did not care now.
My lungs deflated, then--oh! delicious ecstasy!--instead of water, I
drew to my dying body,--air; reviving, life-giving, life-sustaining
oxygen.
I panted and gasped, as life ran through my veins. Blood danced in my
thumping heart. I caught at my reeling senses. I clutched, like a
miser, at the body I held.
I struggled, and opened my eyes.
I was on the surface of the water,--afloat. In my arms, I held the
lady I had wrested from the deadly seaweed.
How well I knew, even in those awful moments, that I was not the cause
of that wonderful rescue. I was present,--true,--but it was the
decreeing of the great, living, but Unseen Power, who had further use
for both of us in the bright old world, who had more work for us to
perform ere he called us to our last accounting.
Well I knew then that every moment of time was more precious than
ordinary hours of reckoning, yet I dared not hurry with my burden
across that short strip of water, lest we should again become entangled.
Foot by foot, I worked my way, until I was clear of the seaweed, then I
kicked forcefully for the shore, and with my unconscious, perhaps dead,
burden in my arms, I scrambled up the face of the rocks and into the
house.
"Quick! For God's sake! Hot water,--blankets!" I cried to Miss
Grant's semi-petrified companion.
She stood and looked at me in horror and bewilderment. Then I
remembered that my shouting was in vain, for she was stone-deaf.
But this good old lady's helplessness was short-lived.
"Lay her down," she cried; "I know how to handle this. If there's a
spark of life in her I can bring her round."
I laid the limp form on the bed, on top of the spotless linen.
As I did so, I looked upon the pale face, with its eyes closed and the
brine rolling in drops over those long, golden eyelashes; then upon the
glorious sun-kissed hair now water-soaked and tangled.
I cried in my soul, "Oh, God!--is this the end and she so beautiful."
Already the elderly lady had commenced first aid, in a businesslike
way. It was something I knew only a little about, so I went into the
kitchen in a perspiring terror of suspense,--and I stood there by the
stove, ready to be of assistance at any moment, should I be called.
After what seemed hours of waiting, I heard a moan, and through the
moaning came a voice, sweet but pitiful, and breathing of agony.
"Oh! why did you bring me back? Why did you not let me die?"
Again followed a long waiting, with the soothing voice of Miss Grant's
able companion talking to her patient as she wrought with her.
There was a spell of dreadful nausea, but when it came I knew the worst
was over.
The elderly lady came to the door, with a request for a hot-water
bottle, which I got for her with alacrity.
At last she came out to me, and her kindly face was beaming.
"My dear, good boy," she said, as tears trickled down her cheeks, "she
is lying peacefully and much better. In an hour or two, she will be up
and around. Would you care to see her, just to put your mind at ease?"
"Indeed I would," I responded.
She led the way into the room, and there on the bed lay Miss
Grant,--breathing easily,--alive,--life athrob in her veins.
A joyful reaction overwhelmed me, for, no matter how humble had been my
part, I had been chosen to help to save her.
As I stood by her, her eyes opened;--great, light-brown eyes, bright
and agleam as of molten gold. They roved the room, then they rested on
me.
"What!" she groaned, "you still here? Oh!--go away,--go away."
My heart sank within me and my face flushed with confusion.
I might have understood that what she said was merely the outpouring of
an overpowering weakness which was mingling the mental pictures
focussed on the young lady's mind;--but I failed to think anything but
that she had a natural distaste for my presence and was not, even now,
grateful for the assistance I had rendered.
With my head bowed, I walked to the door.
Mrs. Malmsbury,--for that was the elderly lady's name,--came to me.
She had not heard, but she had surmised.
"Oh! Mr. Bremner,--if my dear Mary has said anything amiss to you, do
not be offended, for she is hardly herself yet. Why!--she is only
newly back from the dead."
She held out her hand to me and I took it gratefully. But as I walked
over to my quarters and dressed myself, the feeling of resentment in my
heart did not abate; and I vowed then to myself that I would think of
Mary Grant no more; that I would avoid her when I could and keep
strictly to my own, beloved, masculine, bachelor pursuits and to the
pathway I had mapped out for myself.