The other won’t agree thereto,
So here they fall to strife;
With one another they did fight
About the children’s life.
Babes in the Wood.
“I say, Aunt Cherry,” said Adrian, “the fossil forest is to be uncovered
to-morrow, and Merrifield is going to stay for it, and I’m going down
with him.”
“Fossil forest? What, in the Museum?”
“No, indeed. In Anscombe Cove, they call it. There’s a forest buried
there, and bits come up sometimes. To-morrow there’s to be a tremendous
low tide that will leave a lot of it uncovered, and Merrifield and I
mean to dig it out, and if there are some duplicate bits they may be had
for the bazaar.”
“Yes, they have been begging Fergus’s duplicates for a collection of
fossils,” said Anna. “But can it be safe? A low tide means a high tide,
you know.”
“Bosh!” returned Adrian.
“Miss Mohun is sure to know all about the tides, I suppose,” said
Clement; “if her nephew goes with her consent I suppose it is safe.”
“If--” said Mrs. Grinstead.
Adrian looked contemptuous, and muttered something, on which Anna
undertook to see Miss Mohun betimes, and judge how the land, or rather
the sea, lay, and whether Fergus was to be trusted.
It would be a Saturday, a whole holiday, on which he generally went home
for Sunday, and Adrian spent the day with him, but the boys’ present
scheme was, to take their luncheon with them and spend the whole day in
Anscombe Cove. This was on the further side of the bay from the marble
works, shut in by big cliffs, which ran out into long chains of rocks on
either side, but retreated in the midst, where a little stream from the
village of Anscombe, or rather from the moorland beyond, made its way to
the sea.
The almanacks avouched that on this Saturday there would be an unusually
low tide, soon after twelve o’clock, and Fergus had set his heart on
investigating the buried forest that there was no doubt had been choked
by the combined forces of river and sea. So Anna found that notice had
been sent to Clipstone of his intention of devoting himself to the cove
and not coming home till the evening, and that his uncle and aunt did
not think there was any danger, especially as his constant henchman,
Davie Blake, was going with him, and all the fisher-boys of the place
were endowed with a certain instinct for their own tides. The only
accident Jane Mohun had ever known was with a stranger.
Anna had no choice but to subside, and the boys started as soon as the
morning’s tide would have gone down sufficiently, carrying baskets for
their treasures containing their luncheon, and apparently expecting
to find the forest growing upright under the mud, like a wood full of
bushes.
The cove for which they were bound was on the further side of the chain
of rocks, nearly two miles from Rockquay, and one of the roads ran along
the top of the red cliffs that shut it in, with no opening except where
the stream emerged, and even that a very scanty bank of shingle.
In spite of all assurances, Anna could not be easy about her darling,
and when afternoon came, and the horses were brought to the door, she
coaxed Gerald into riding along the cliffs in the Anscombe direction,
where there was a good road, from whence they could turn down a steep
hill into the village, and thence go up a wild moor beyond, or else
continue along the coast for a considerable distance.
As they went out she could see nothing of the boys, only rocks rising
through an expanse of mud, and the sea breaking beyond. She would have
preferred continuing the cliff road, but Gerald had a turn for the moor,
and carried her off through the village of Anscombe, up and up, till
they had had a lively canter on the moor, and looked far out at sea.
When they turned back and had reached the cliff road, what had been
a sheet of mud before had been almost entirely covered with sparkling
waves, and there was white foam beating against some of the rocks.
“I hope Adrian is gone home,” sighed Anna.
“Long ago, depend on it,” returned Gerald carelessly; but the next
moment his tone changed. “By Jove!” he exclaimed, and pointed with his
whip to a rock, or island, at the end of the range of rocks.
He was much the more long-sighted of the two, and she could only first
discern that there was something alive upon the rock.
“Oh!” she cried, “is it the boys--I can’t see?”
“I can’t tell. It is boys, maybe fishers. I must get out to them,” he
replied. “Now, Anna, be quiet--use your senses. It is somebody, anyway.
I saw the opening of a path down the rock just now,” and he threw
himself off his horse, and threw her the bridle. “You ride to the first
house; find where there is a Coast-guard station, or any fisherman to
put out a boat. No time to be lost.”
“Oh, is it, is it--” cried the bewildered girl, with no hand to feel for
her eyeglass. “Where shall I go?”
“I tell you I can’t tell,” he shouted in answer to both questions, half
angrily, already on his way. “Don’t dawdle,” and he disappeared.
Poor Anna, she had no inclination to dawdle, but the two horses were
a sore impediment, and she went on some way without seeing any houses.
Should she turn back to the little road leading down from Anscombe? but
that was rough and difficult, and could not be undertaken quickly with a
led horse; or should she make the best of her way to the nearest villas,
outskirts of Rockquay? However, after a moment the swish of bicycles
was heard, and up came two young men, clerks apparently, let loose by
Saturday. They halted, and in answer to her agitated question where
there was a house, pointed to a path which they said led down to the
Preventive station, and asked whether there had been an accident, and
whether they could be of use. They were more able to decide what was
best to be done than she could be, and they grew more keenly interested
when they understood for whom she feared. Petros White, brother to Mrs.
Henderson, and nephew to Aunt Adeline’s husband, was one of them, the
other, a youth also employed at the marble works. This latter took the
horses off her hands, while Petros showed her the way to the Coast-guard
station by a steep path, leading to a sort of ledge in the side of the
cliff, scooped out partly by nature and partly by art, where stood the
little houses covered with slate.
There the mistress was looking out anxiously with a glass; while below,
the Preventive man was unlocking the boat-house, having already observed
the peril of the boys, but lamenting the absence of his mate. Petros ran
down at speed to offer his help, and Anna could only borrow the glass,
through which she plainly saw the three boys, bare-legged, sitting
huddled up on the top of the rock, but with the waves still a good way
from them, and their faces all turned hopefully towards the promontory
of rock along which she could see Gerald picking his way; but there was
evidently a terrible and fast-diminishing space between its final point
and the rock of refuge.
Anna was about to rush down, and give her help with an oar; but the
woman withheld her, saying that she would only crowd the boat and retard
the rescue, for which the two were quite sufficient, only the danger was
that the current of the stream might make the tide rise rapidly in the
bay. There were besides so many rocks and shoals, that it was impossible
to proceed straight across, but it was needful absolutely to pass the
rock and then turn back on it from the open sea. It was agonizing for
the sister to watch the devious course, and she turned the glass upon
the poor boys, plainly making out Adrian’s scared, restless look, as he
clung to the fisher-lad, and Fergus nursing his bag of specimens with
his knees drawn up. By and by Gerald was wading, and with difficulty
preventing himself from being washed off the rocks. He paused, saw her,
and waved encouragement. Then he plunged along, not off his feet, and
reached the island where the boys were holding out their arms to him.
There ensued a few moments of apparently hot debate, and she saw, to her
horror and amazement, that he was thrusting back one boy, who struggled
and almost fell off the rock in his passion, as Gerald lifted down the
little fisher-boy. Of course she could not hear the words, “Come, boy.
No, Adrian. Noblesse oblige. I will come back, never fear. I can take
but one, don’t I tell you. I will come back.”
Those were Gerald’s words, while Adrian threw himself on the rock,
sobbing and screaming, while Fergus sat still, hugging his bag. Anna
could have screamed with her brother, for the boat seemed to have
overshot the mark, and to be going quite aloof, when all depended upon
a few minutes. She could hardly hear the words of the Preventive woman,
who had found a second glass: “Never you fear, miss, the boat will be up
in time.”
She could not speak. Her heart was in wild rebellion as she thought of
the comparative value of her widowed mother’s only son with that of the
fisher-boy, or even of Fergus, one of so large a family. She could not
or would not look to see what Gerald was doing with the wretched little
coast boy; but she heard her companion say that the gentleman had put
the boy down to scramble among the rocks, and he himself was going back
to the pair on the rock, quite swimming now.
She durst look again, and saw that he had scrambled up to the boys’
perch, and had lifted Adrian up, but there was white spray dashing round
now. She could not see the boat.
“They have to keep to the other side,” explained the woman. “God keep
them! It will be a near shave. The gentleman is taking off his coat!”
Again there was a leap of foam--over! over! Then all was blotted out,
but the woman exclaimed--
“There they are!”
“Oh! where?”
“One swimming! He is floating the other.”
Anna could see no longer. She dashed aside the telescope, then begged
to be told, then looked again. No prayer would come but “Save him! save
him!”
There was a call quite close.
“Mr. Norris, sir, put off your boat! Master Fergus--Oh! is he off?” and,
drenched and breathless, Davy sank down on the ground at their feet,
quite spent, unable at first to get out a word after those panting ones;
but in a minute he spoke in answer to the agonized “Which? Who?”
“Master Fergus is swimming. The young sir couldn’t.”
Anna recollected how her mother’s fears and entreaties had prevented Mr.
Harewood from teaching Adrian to swim.
“Gent is floating him,” added the boy. “He took me first, because I
could get over the rocks and get help soonest. He is a real gentleman,
he is.”
Anna could not listen to anything but “The boat is coming!”
“Oh, but they don’t see! They are going away from it!”
“That’s the current,” said Mrs. Norris. “My man knows what he is about,
and so does the gentleman, never fear.”
There was another terrible interval, and then boat and swimmers began to
approach, though in what condition could not be made out. A dark little
head, no doubt that of Fergus, was lifted in, then another figure was
raised and taken into the boat; Gerald swam with a hand on it for a
short distance, then was helped in, and almost at once took an oar.
“That’s right,” said Mrs. Norris. “It will keep out the cold.”
“They are not coming here,” exclaimed Anna. “They are going round the
point.”
“All right,” was the answer. “‘Tis more direct, you see, no shoals,
and the young gentlemen will get to their own homes and beds all the
quicker. Now, miss, you will come in and take a cup of tea, I am sure
you want it, and I had just made it when Norris saw the little lads.”
“Oh, thank you, I must get back at once. My little brother--”
“Yes, yes, miss, but you’ll be able to ride the faster for a bit of
bread and cup of tea! You are all of a tremble.”
It was true, and to pacify her, Mrs. Norris sent a child up to bid
Petros have the horses ready, and Anna was persuaded to swallow a little
too, which happily had cooled enough for her haste, but she hurried off,
leaving Mrs. Norris to expend her hospitality on Davy, who endured
his drenching like a fish, and could hardly wait even to swallow thick
bread-and-butter till he could rush off to hear of his dear Master
Fergus.
The horses were ready. Petros had been joined by other spectators,
and was able to entrust the bicycles to one of them, while he himself
undertook to lead Mr. Underwood’s horse to the stable. Anna rode off at
as much speed or more than was safe downhill among the stones. She had
to cross the broad parade above the quay, and indeed she believed she
had come faster than the boat, which had to skirt round the side of the
promontory between Anscombe Cove and Rockquay. In fact, when she came
above the town she could see a crowd on the quay and pier, all looking
out to sea, and she now beheld two boats making for the harbour.
Then she had to ride between walls and villas, and lost sight of all
till she emerged on the parade, and thought she saw Uncle Clement’s hat
above the crowd as she looked over their heads.
She gave her horse to a bystander, who evidently knew her, for a murmur
went through the crowd of “Little chap’s sister,” and way was made
for her to get forward, while several rough voices said, “All right”;
“Coast-guard boat”; “Not this one.”
Her uncle and Miss Mohun wore standing together. General Mohun could be
seen in the foremost boat, and they could hear him call out, with a wave
of his arm--
“All right! All safe!”
“You hero! Where’s Gerald?” Miss Mohun exclaimed, as Anna came up to
her.
“There!” and she pointed to the Coast-guard boat. “We saw the boys from
Anscombe Cliff, and he went out to them.”
“Gerald,” exclaimed his uncle, with a ring of gladness in his voice,
all the more that it was plain that the rower was indeed Gerald, and
he began to hail those on shore, while Fergus’s head rose up from the
bottom of the boat.
In a few moments they were close to the quay, and the little sodden mass
that purported to be Fergus was calling out--
“Aunt Jane! Oh, I’ve lost such a bit of aralia. Where’s Davy?”
“Here, take care. He is all right,” were Gerald’s words.
_He_ meant Adrian, whom his cousin lifted out, with eyes open and
conscious, but with limp hands and white exhausted looks, to be carried
to the fly that stood in waiting.
“Is the other boy safe?” asked Gerald anxiously.
“Oh yes; but how could you?” were the first words that came to Anna;
but she felt rebuked by a strange look of utter surprise, and instead of
answering her he replied to General Mohun--
“Thanks, no, I’ll walk up!” as a rough coat was thrown over his dripping
and scanty garments.
“The wisest way,” said the General. “Can you, Fergus?”
“Yes, quite well. Oh, my aralia!”
“He has been half crying all the way home about his fossils,” said
Gerald. “Never mind, Fergus; look out for the next spring-tide. Uncle
Clem, you ought to drive up.”
Clement submitted, clearly unable to resist, and sat down by Anna,
who had her brother in her arms, rubbing his hands and warming them,
caressing him, and asking him how he felt, to which the only answer she
got was--
“It was beastly. I have my mouth awfully full of water still.”
Clement made a low murmur of thanksgiving, and Anna, looking up, was
startled to see how white and helpless he was. The way was happily very
short, but he had so nearly fainted that Gerald, hurrying on faster
uphill than the horse to reassure his aunt, lifted him out, not far from
insensible, and carried him with Sibby’s help to his bed in the room on
the ground-floor, where the remedies were close at hand, Geraldine and
nurse anxiously administering them; when the first sign of revival he
gave was pointing to Gerald’s dripping condition, and signing to him to
go and take care of himself.
“All right, yes, boys and all! All right Cherie.”
And he went, swallowing down the glass of stimulant which his aunt
turned from her other patient for a moment to administer, but she was
much too anxious about Clement to have thought for any one else, for
truly it did seem likely that he would be the chief sufferer from the
catastrophe.
Little Davy’s adventure, as he had lost no clothes, made no more
impression on his parents than if he had been an amphibious animal or
a water dog, and when Fergus came out of Beechwood Cottage after having
changed the few clothes he had retained, and had a good meal, to be
driven home with his uncle in the dog-cart, his constant henchman was
found watching for news of him at the gate.
“Please, sir, I think we’ll find your aralia next spring-tide.”
Whereupon General Mohun told him he was a good little chap, and
presented him with a half-crown, the largest sum he had ever possessed
in his life.
Fergus did not come off quite so well, for when the story had been told,
though his mother had trembled and shed tears of thankfulness as she
kissed him, and his sisters sprang at him and devoured him, while all
the time he bemoaned his piece of the stump of an aralia, and a bit of
cone of a pinus, and other treasures to which imaginative regret lent
such an aid, that no doubt he would believe the lost contents of his bag
to have been the most precious articles that he had ever collected; his
father, however, took him into his study.
“Fergus,” he said gravely, “this is the second time your ardour upon
your pursuits has caused danger and inconvenience to other people, this
time to yourself too.”
Fergus hung his head, and faltered something about--“Never saw.”
“No, that is the point. Now I say nothing about your pursuits. I am very
glad you should have them, and be an intelligent lad; but they must not
be taken up exclusively, so as to drive out all heed to anything else.
Remember, there is a great difference between courage and foolhardiness,
and that you are especially warned to be careful if your venturesomeness
endangers other people’s lives.”
So Fergus went off under a sense of his father’s displeasure, while
Adrian lay in his bed, kicking about, admired and petted by his sister,
who thought every one very unkind and indifferent to him; and when
he went to sleep, began a letter to her eldest sister describing the
adventure and his heroism in naming terms, such as on second thoughts
she suppressed, as likely to frighten her mother, and lead to his
immediate recall.