THE RISING TIDE
I think there must be some provision of nature which in times of real
danger keeps men's minds away from personal fears. I can honestly say
that not a thought of danger for myself crossed my mind; though I was
harrowed up and appalled by fears for Marjory. My mental excitement,
however, took a practical shape, and thought after thought flashed
through my brain as to how I could best serve my wife. The situation
with its woeful possibilities came first; and afterwards, in quick
succession, the efforts which might be made. But first I must see how we
really stood. I did not know this cave and the lengths and levels of it
well enough to be sure whether the tide could block us completely in. If
there were but head-room the actual distance was not far to swim. This
I could soon settle; taking Marjory's lamp which stood on the ledge of
rock I ran down the cave calling out as I went:
"Stay here a minute, dear, I want to see how far the tide is in." The
double winding of the cave made it hard for me to judge at a glance; it
was only when I came to the piece of straight passage leading up from
the sea that I could judge. From the time I left the treasure chamber of
the cave the water got deeper and deeper as I went, but the difficulty
was not in this way; I knew that so long as there was headway I could
swim for it and take Marjory with me. But when I came down the straight,
my hopes were altogether dashed. As the floor dipped towards the sea so
did the roof in much greater degree. I knew that there was one place
where at low water there was only barely headway even when we stooped
low; but I was not prepared for what I saw. The water had already risen
so far that this place was, from where I stood waist high in water,
obliterated; the rocky roof sank into the still, level water. For a
moment I considered whether it would not be best to dive through it. I
had the cord to guide me, and I knew that towards its mouth the cave
roof rose again. But then there was Marjory. She was not like myself an
accomplished diver. It might be possible if the worst should come to
the worst to draw her through the water-choked piece of tunnel by the
guiding cord. But if the cord should break or anything go wrong.... The
thought was too dreadful! I hurried back to Marjory to see how far it
might be advisable to make the attempt, however dangerous, rather than
be drowned in the deepening water of the cave, or asphyxiated if the
space left were too small to allow us breathing till the falling of the
tide.
I found Marjory standing on the shelf of rock, to which she had climbed
by the aid of the San Cristobal figurehead. She was holding up the torch
and examining carefully the walls and roof of the cave. When she heard
the splash of my coming through the water, she turned; I could see that
though her face was pale she was very calm and self-possessed. She said
quietly:
"I have been looking for high-water mark, but I can hardly see any sign
of it. I suppose in this dark cave, where neither seaweed nor zoophyte
exists, there is no such thing. Unless of course it be that the whole
cave is under the water line; in which case we must be ready for
the worst." As she spoke she was raising the torch till its light
illuminated, so far as was possible, the extreme angle of the cavern
where it ran up to a sort of point. I scrambled up beside her, and
making use of my greater height, took the torch and keeping it away
at arm's length put my hand into the narrowing angle. I had a sort of
secret hope that there might be some long crack or rift which, though it
might be impossible for our bodies, might still give us air. Any such
half-formed hope was soon shattered; the angle of the cave was in the
solid rock, and there was no fissure or even crack beyond.
As there was no clue to the level reached by the tide, I tried back on
the possibility of gauging it by measuring from low water, so far as my
memory of the tides might serve. Judging by the depth of the water, so
far as I had gone, the fall of the floor level must here have been some
three feet. The floor level of the cave was almost that of low water,
except where it dipped under the overhanging roof, or where was the
ascending grade up to the pool in which the treasure boxes lay. As here
on the border of the North Sea, with no estuary to increase tidage, the
normal rise of the tide is between eleven and twelve feet, we had to
account for another eight or nine feet for the rise of the tide.
The ledge was about a foot above the surface of the water. If my
calculations were correct there was head room and breathing space, for
as I stood on the ledge the top of my head was still about two feet from
the highest point of roof over us. I could not, however, be certain of
my calculations, within a couple of feet. If, therefore, we could keep
our place on the shelf of rock and endure the cold we might yet win
through. The cold was a serious matter. At Cruden where the full sweep
of the icy current from the North Sea runs in shore, the water is
grievously cold, even in the hottest summer time. Already we were
feeling the effects of our wet clothes, even in this silent cavern where
the heat seemed to be much more than outside. When we had been looking
at the jewels, I had myself felt the chill, and could feel Marjory
shiver now and again. Indeed, I had been about to suggest our returning
when I made the discovery of the rising tide.
It was no use regretting, however. We were caged in the cavern; and our
only chance was to hold on somehow, till the tide should fall again. The
practical side of Marjory's mind was all awake. It was she who quietly
refilled the two lamps, and, with much spluttering of the wick at first,
lighted again the one which I had let fall into the water. When both
lamps were ready, she put out the torch and placed it in the tin box
which she handed to me, saying:
"We may need all the air we can get for our breathing, and the torches
would burn it up. We must have two lamps lest one should fail. Shove the
box as far as it will go into the corner of the cave; it will be safe
there--as safe as us at any rate, for it will be over our heads."
As she spoke a new idea occurred to me. I might raise the level of the
ledge by piling the ingots on it! I did not lose any time, but jumping
down began at once to lift them one by one on the ledge. It was heavy
work, and no one but a very strong man could have lifted them from off
the ground, much less have placed them on a ledge over where he stood.
Moreover I had to bend into the water to reach them, and in the years
which they had lain there in juxtaposition some deposit of salt or sea
lime of some kind had glued them together. After the separation of the
first, however, this difficulty grew less. Marjory aided me in placing
the bars in position; when they were once fixed their great weight kept
them in place.
It was odd how little in these moments the treasure counted for. The
little heap of rubies lay on the shelf of rock unnoticed, and when in
the strain of placing the ingots some of them were brushed off into the
water, neither Marjory nor I took the trouble even to sweep them with
a brush of the hand into a safer place. One of the metal caskets was
tumbled bodily into the water without a thought.
When the ingots were all in place, and shaken into steady position,
we got on the ledge together and began to test the security of our
platform; it would be too late to find out any flaw of construction when
the tide should have risen. We had made a foothold nearly two feet
above the surface of the ledge, and this might give us at the last an
additional chance. At any rate, even if we should not be so hard pressed
as to have to raise our heads so high, it would give us a longer period
of comparative dryness. We were already beginning to feel the chill
of the tide. In those caves the air is all right, and we had not felt
chilled, although we were more or less wet through; but I dreaded lest
it might numb either of us so much as to prevent our taking every
chance. When we stood together on the pile of gold and silver, our heads
were so close to the roof that I felt safe so far as actually drowning
or asphyxiation were concerned if the tide did not rise higher than
I had computed. If we could only hold out till the tide had fallen
sufficiently, we might get back.
And then we began the long, dreary wait for the rising tide. The time
seemed endless, for our apprehension and suspense multiplied the real
danger whatever it might be. We stood on the cave floor till the water
had reached our waists, and all this time tried to keep moving, to
dance up and down, to throw about arms and legs so as to maintain the
circulation of the blood. Then we climbed up and sat on the platform of
bullion till the water rose round our knees again. Then we stood on the
ledge and took what exercise we could till the water climbed up over our
feet and knees. It was a terrible trial to feel the icy, still water
creep up, and up, and up. There was not a sound, no drip or ripple of
water anywhere; only silence as deadly as death itself. Then came the
time when we had to stand together on the pile of bullion which we had
built up. We stood close, for there was merely foothold; I held Marjory
up as well as I could, so as to lessen for her the strain of standing
still. Our hearts beat together. We felt it, and we knew it; it was only
the expression of both our thoughts when Marjory said:
"Thank God! dear, at the worst we can die together." In turn we held the
lamp well over the water, and as we looked in aching suspense we saw the
dark flood rise up to the sloping roof of the cave and steal towards us
with such slow, relentless precision that for my own part I felt I must
scream. I felt Marjory tremble; the little morsel of hysterics which
goes to make up the sum total of every woman was beginning to assert
itself. Indeed there was something hypnotic in that silent line of death
creeping slowly towards us. At this time, too, the air began to feel
less fresh. Our own breaths and the exhalations of the lamp was
vitiating our breathing space. I whispered to Marjory:
"We must put out the light!" She shuddered, but said with as brave a
voice as she could:
"All right! I suppose it is necessary. But, darling, hold me tight and
do not let me away from you, or I shall die!"
I let the lantern fall into the water; its hissing for a moment drowned
my own murmur of grief and Marjory's suppressed groan.
And now, in the darkness, the terror of the rising flood grew worse and
worse. The chill water crept up, and up, and up; till at last it was
only by raising her head that Marjory could breathe. I leaned back
against the rock and bending my legs outward lifted her so that she
rested her feet upon my knees. Up and up rose the chill water till it
reached my chin, and I feared that the last moments had come.
There was one chance more for Marjory: and though it cut me to the soul
to speak it, for I knew it would tear at her very heartstrings, I had to
try it:
"Marjory, my wife, the end is close! I fear we may not both live. In a
few minutes more, at most, the water will be over my mouth. When that
time comes I shall sink over the pile of treasure on which we rest. You
must then stand on me; it will raise you sufficiently to let you hold
out longer." A dreadful groan broke from her.
"Oh, my God!" was all she said, but every nerve in her body seemed to
quiver. Then without a word she seemed to become limp and was sliding
out of my arms. I held her up strongly, for I feared she had swooned:
she groaned out:
"Let me go, let me go! Either of us can rest on the other's body. I
shall never leave this if you die."
"Dear one" I said "do as I wish, and I shall feel that even death will
be a happy thing, since it can help you." She said nothing but clung to
me and our mouths met. I knew what she meant; if die we must, we should
die together in a kiss.
In that lover's kiss our very souls seemed to meet. We felt that the
Gates of the Unknown World were being unbarred to us, and all its
glorious mysteries were about to be unveiled. In the impassive stillness
of that rising tide, where never a wave or ripple broke the dreadful,
silent, calm, there was no accidental fall or rise which might give
added uneasiness or sudden hope. We had by this time become so far
accustomed to its deadly perfection as to accept its conditions. This
recognition of inevitable force made for resignation; and I think that
in those moments both Marjory and I realised the last limitations of
humanity. When one has accepted the inevitable, the mere act of dying is
easy of accomplishment.
But there is a contra to everything in the great ledgers of the Books
of Life and Death, and it is only a final balance which counts for gain
or loss. The very resignation which makes the thought of death easy
to bear, is but a balance of power which may not be gainsayed. In the
struggle of hope and despair the Winged One submits, and that is all.
His wings are immortal; out of fire or water, or pestilence, or famine,
or the red mist of battle they ever rise again, when once there is light
of any kind to animate them.
Even when Marjory's mouth was bent to mine in a fond kiss of love and
death, the wings of Hope fluttered around her head. For an instant or
two she paused, as if listening or waiting, and then with a glad cry,
which in that narrow space seemed to ring exultingly, she said:
"You are saved! You are saved! The water is falling; it has sunk below
your lips." Even in that dread moment of life and death, I could not but
be touched by her way of rejoicing in the possibility of our common
safety. Her only thought was for me.
But her words were true. The tide had reached its full; the waters were
falling. Minute by minute we waited, waited in breathless suspense;
clinging to each other in an ecstasy of hope and love. The chill which
had been upon us for so long, numbing every sense and seeming to make
any idea of effort impossible, seemed to have lost its power. In the new
quickening of hope, our hearts seemed to beat more warmly, till the
blood tingled in our veins. Oh! but the time was long, there in the
dark, with the silent waters receding inch by inch with a slowness which
was inconceivable. The strain of waiting became after a while almost
unbearable; I felt that I must speak to Marjory, and make her speak and
keep speaking, lest we should both break down, even at the very last. In
the time of our waiting for death we had held on to our determination,
blindly resolute to struggle to the last; even though we had accepted
the inevitable. But now there was impatience added to our apprehension.
We did not know the measure of our own endurance; and Terror seemed to
brood over us with flapping wings.
Truly, the moments of coming Life are longer than hours of coming
Death.