DOROTHY TO THE RESCUE
The girls of the Compton School bathed from the strip of beach just
beyond the steps and in front of the lock-house. It was a steep and not
very safe bit of shore. But all the girls could swim fairly well, while
some of them were really expert.
The Fourth Form girls had two mistresses with them, and they were all in
the water, splashing about with tremendous zest, when the Sixth, who had
come to bathe, arrived on the scene.
Coming up the steps from the lock-house, they reached the Promenade, and
were just going to spring down the wall to reach the tents when a shrill
cry rang out that Cissie Wray was drowning.
There was instant commotion. Some of the girls who were in the water
came hurrying out, scrambling up the beach in a panic; others launched
themselves into deep water with a reckless disregard for their own
safety, and swam out to help in the rescue.
Dorothy, standing on the edge of the wall, and looking out over the
water, saw an arm shoot up, then disappear. She saw Miss Mordaunt, the
games-mistress, and Miss Ball, the mistress of the Fourth, making wild
efforts to reach the place where Cissie Wray was in trouble; she saw the
girls who were in the water crowding together, getting in the way of the
rescuers, endangering themselves, and adding to the confusion. Acting on
impulse, she sprang from the wall, then running down the steep beach,
and tearing off her skirt as she ran, she kicked off her shoes, and
running still, took to the water as lightly as a duck, going forward
with long, even strokes that carried her swiftly on.
“Go back! go back!” she shouted to the small girls who were bobbing up
and down in the water, anxious to help. “Get out of the deep as quickly
as you can, and get ready to make a chain to pull us up.”
Chain-making for rescue was one of the most usual swimming exercises.
Sometimes half the chain would be straggling up the beach, and the other
half in deep water; then the last one of the chain would drop limp and
passive, while the chain struggled shorewards with the helpless one in
tow.
Dorothy’s quick wit had seen that the great hope of rescue lay in the
chain. The tide was running in fast, and the beach at this point rose so
steeply that a swimmer with a burden was most fearfully handicapped. Oh!
a rescue in such a sea would be a task of magnitude, and she suddenly
realized that Cissie must have been very far out. Miss Ball was nearest
to the place where Dorothy had seen the arm flung up. She was swimming
with desperate haste, but she was not saving her strength in the least
possible way. She was not a strong swimmer, either, and even if she
reached the little girl, she would not be able to do more than hold her
up in the water.
Miss Mordaunt had been right away at the outer edge of the group. She
had been helping the younger ones to get more confidence in their own
powers; she had to see these headed for safety before she could come to
the help of Miss Ball and Cissie, so she was behind Dorothy.
Miss Ball shot forward, gripped hold of Cissie by the bathing-dress, and
was holding her fast, when poor, frantic Cissie, with a thin shriek of
pure panic, seized Miss Ball in a frenzied grip, clinging with all her
might, and choking the Fourth Form mistress by the tightness of her
clutch.
Dorothy made a wild effort and shot forward. Would she ever cover the
distance that separated her from the two who were in such dire peril?
She almost reached them—she shot out an arm to grip Miss Ball, who was
nearest; a great wave heaved up and swept the Fourth Form mistress
farther to the left. Dorothy put out another spurt; she flung every
ounce of strength she had into the effort; she summoned all her will
power to her aid, and suddenly, just as she was feeling that she simply
could not do any more, Cissie Wray was flung into reach of her groping
fingers, and she had the little girl fast.
Cissie was still clinging with might and main to the neck of Miss Ball,
who, strangled and helpless in that suffocating grip, was slowly
beginning to sink.
Treading water to keep herself afloat, Dorothy hung on to Cissie’s
bathing-dress with one hand, and with the other she wrenched the little
girl’s hand from its frantic clasp of Miss Ball’s throat. Quite well she
realized her own danger in doing this, but she trusted to her swiftness
of movement to be able to elude Cissie’s clutching fingers. She had
seized Cissie well by the back of the bathing-dress, and was keeping her
at arm’s length. But the trouble now was with Miss Ball, who, having
been so badly choked, could not regain the strength that had been
squeezed out of her, and was being sucked down into the water.
Dorothy made a clutch at her, and catching her by the arm, held her
fast. “Buck up!” she said sharply. “Buck up and strike out, or we’ll all
be drowned. Keep afloat a minute; help is coming.”
Miss Ball had done her bit, and there was no more do in her. She flung
out her hands with a feeble and spasmodic effort, which amounted to
nothing as far as helping herself went.
Dorothy was in despair. Her own strength was waning, her heart was
beating in a choking fashion, there was a loud singing in her ears, and
her arms felt as if they were being dragged out of their sockets. She
could not stand the strain another moment. Where was Miss Mordaunt, and
why did she not come to the rescue?
Miss Ball was sinking—oh! she was surely sinking. Dorothy felt she
could not hold the poor thing up for another second, for she was having
to keep Cissie afloat too, and Cissie was squirming and kicking in the
most dangerous fashion.
“Courage, Dorothy, I am here!” panted a voice close to her, and
realizing that Miss Mordaunt was close at hand, Dorothy’s courage began
instantly to revive.
Miss Mordaunt laid hold of Miss Ball, who was by this time limp and
unconscious.
“Can you hold Cissie until I come?” panted Miss Mordaunt, who was moving
rapidly to get the helpless Miss Ball ashore.
“I can manage,” Dorothy called out cheerily. She put every bit of
courage she possessed into her voice so that Miss Mordaunt might be
helped. There is nothing like courage to inspire courage, and although
the others were doubtless swimming out to their help, there was a good
distance to cover, and it was a very choppy sea.
Dorothy shifted Cissie, because the little girl’s face was so low down
that it kept getting under water.
Cissie, feeling the movement, and believing that her rescuer was letting
her go, made a sudden, despairing effort, and gripped Dorothy round the
shoulders. Lucky for Dorothy it was that the choking grip did not get
her round the throat. It was bad enough as it was, for she could not
move her arms, and was dependent on her feet for keeping herself and
Cissie from drifting farther out to sea.
“Cissie, let go; leave yourself to me—I will save you!” she panted. But
Canute ordering the waves back from the shore was not more helpless in
altering their course than she was in making any impression on poor,
frantic Cissie. The child clung like a limpet to a rock; Dorothy had
never felt anything like the clutch of those thin arms.
She could not hold up against it. She was being dragged down in spite of
her struggles. Oh! it was awful, awful. Scenes from her past flashed
into the mind of Dorothy as she felt herself slipping, slipping, and
felt the thin arms about her neck clutching tighter and tighter.
Then suddenly a great peace stole into her heart; if she had to die in
such a way, at least it would solve the problem of to-morrow. If she
were not there to win the Lamb Bursary, the governors would not have to
be told of that ugly bit in her father’s past which would shut her out
from taking the Bursary even after she had won it. Supposing that she
did not win it, and it came to Rhoda, if she were dead there would be no
one to remind Rhoda that she might not have the Bursary because she was
not fit to hold it. Perhaps her death was the best way out for them all.
Anyhow, she had no longer strength to struggle—no more power to hold
out against the cramping clutch of Cissie’s arms; and it was a relief,
when one was so weary, to drop into peace which was so profound.