A QUEER VOYAGE.
DAVEY had now made all his preparations, and was ready to embark.
Young though he was, the lad had too much common sense to feel over
sanguine as to the result of his experiment. He could not forget
that he ran a great risk of losing his life, in spite of all his
precautions. He had never tried anything like this wooden support
before, and it might prove insufficient to keep him afloat. Or again,
the currents, which were strong with swift eddies on that part of the
coast, might seize and sweep him out to sea, or the waves might dash
him to death against the rocks outside the point.
Any one of these things might happen to him, and he thought them all
over as quietly and calmly as he could, while he stood strapped to his
raft, on the platform, which was now more than half covered by the
flowing tide.
"Yes, it's a great risk," said the boy to himself, "but there's no
other way of getting off from Hoyle's Mouth, and so I'm bound to run
the risk. And if worst comes to worst, and I'm killed, even that will
be better than to live always with these smugglers, or perhaps be
caught and punished at last. Yes—there's nothing for it—I must make
this venture."
For a moment more he stood there, alone in the night, by the dark
waters of the deepening creek, with the pale stars looking down upon
him from the sky. With a sudden reverent impulse, he doffed his cap,
and looking upward, committed himself, in a few simple, childish words,
to his Father in Heaven, to that love and power in the faith of which
he had been brought up, and to which, in his repentance, he had come
back with the old sweet belief.
Then, grasping his paddle firmly in his right hand, and the
broom-handle in the left, he stepped into the creek, waded on and out
into deep water, then threw himself forward, kicking out with his feet,
and also propelling himself with his paddle.
To his delight, he floated in that position quite easily, and until he
emerged from the creek he had little or no difficulty. But as he came
towards the point of rock and encountered the broken waves, his real
trouble and danger began. He found there was no risk at all of his
sinking, for the raft-shield kept him up; but he had not calculated for
his being tumbled and rolled about in the wash of the surf, till he was
dazed and half choked.
Still, the boy did not lose his presence of mind; between the waves, he
used his paddle to get on as quickly as he could, and his broom-handle
stood him in good stead in keeping him off the rocks. Happily there was
no wind, and the sea was not rough, or the little voyager would have
had but small chance of his life.
As it was—the point was rounded at last, and he found himself floating
in quiet, sheltered water, and borne onwards, without any effort of
his own, by the rising tide. It was only now, when he was no longer
fighting for his life, that he realised how cold the water was, and
that his feet and legs were quite benumbed. But already he had touched
the sandy bottom of the firm white beach, and now, on his hands and
knees, he crawled out of the sea, further and further, till he was
above high-water mark, at the base of the sand hills which rounded the
bay from cliff to cliff. Here he untied the wet, clinging lashings by
which he was bound to the raft, and threw himself down exhausted.
Presently he roused himself, stripped off his clothes, and put them
about on the sand to dry, placing stones on them to prevent their being
blown away should the wind rise. Next, he scooped out with his hands a
great hole in the dry sand of the sand hill, and got into it, covering
himself thickly, from chin to toes, with the sand that he had dug out.
And there, close and snug as a hare in her form, or a rabbit in its
warren, he gradually grew warm with a delicious glow, and presently
fell fast asleep.
When Davey awoke, the sun was rising, and over St. Catherine's Mount to
the eastward the sky was flushing red, while the isle of Caldy and its
rugged sister, St. Margaret's, looked in the shining morning mist, like
some strange enchanted land whose beauties were veiled for a while,
only to be revealed in their full glory at the appearing of the sun.
Feeling rather stiff and sore, but with a heart overflowing with
thankfulness, Davey heaved up the sand, making a small earthquake as
he did so, and after giving himself a shake, proceeded to dress, his
clothes having dried during the night.
It was only when he was just ready, that a gnawing pain reminded him
that he was hungry, and set him wondering where and how, without a
friend in Tenby, or a penny in his pocket, he was to get bite or sup to
keep body and soul together.
"Well," said he to himself, as he started off at a good pace across the
Burrows towards the high, bold, rocky peninsula upon which stood the
town of Tenby—"as I've got so far, I suppose I'll get my food somehow.
And, any way, it'll never do to be downhearted now; so here goes for a
climb!"
[Illustration]