“DOLLY, it won’t be long now, will it?” said Ess, trying to hold her
voice steady.
He tried to answer hopefully. “You never know. It might stop rising any
minute, and start to drop five minutes after.”
“Couldn’t we tie the buggy to the tree?” she asked. “It would float,
wouldn’t it, and support us?”
“It might,” he said doubtfully. “But, anyhow, we can try. But what are
we—wait a minute,” he jumped to his feet excitedly. “What an ass I was
not to think of it! What did I do with the harness—yes, here it is.”
He stooped and dragged out the tangled leather from under their feet.
“And I left the reins tied to the wheel when I slipped the horses. We
might manage to scale the tree yet.”
He disentangled the traces, and leaned over and untied the reins and
knotted them together, working with shaking fingers and in feverish
haste.
He stood up in the buggy seat and whirled the looped coils of leather,
and threw them high for the fork of the tree above them. He missed the
first few times, or the coils caught and hung there till he jerked them
back, but at last they curled over the fork and fell to the other side
of the tree. Dolly jumped down and went wading round, and leaped and
caught the end of the trace. “Hold that end, Miss Ess,” he said, “and
stand up and catch this one if you can.”
He swung the end round to her, and she caught and held it while he
climbed the buggy. He stood on the seat again and knotted the far end
in a loop, and passed the other end through it and hauled taut till it
jambed on the branch above, took a couple of turns of the free end
round the wheel, and told Ess to hold on. “And up I go,” he said. “And
then I’ll haul while you climb, and we’ll lash ourselves to the mast
and hang on till the flood goes where it jolly well pleases. _Hup_,”
and he sprang and commenced to climb hand over hand with his feet
against the trunk.
“See how it’s done,” he called down breathlessly, when he reached the
fork and sat astride it. “Easy as walking upstairs. Now untwist your
end and pass it two or three times round your waist, and tie a firm
knot—half-a-dozen knots. Have you done that?”
“Wait a minute,” she called back. “Yes—all right.”
“Now twist the loops round, so the knot comes fair to the front, and
reach far up as you can and grab with both hands, and climb as much as
you are able. Now—go.”
She tried to imitate the way he had put his feet against the trunk, but
they slipped, and she bumped into the tree, bruising her knuckles and
forcing a cry. “Climb,” shouted Dolly. She struggled, and Dolly
strained and hauled, but the weight was too much, and he had to slack
her down the two or three feet she had climbed.
“You are a lively weight, you know,” he called down laughingly, but
with a feeling of dismay.
“What will I do next?” she answered. “You can never lift me that
height, I know, and I simply can’t climb.”
Dolly sat and racked his brains for a minute. “Well?” she called, and
looking down he could just see her in the dim light standing with face
upturned to him.
“Wait a bit,” he said. “I’m coming down again. Untie yourself and hang
on to your end.”
He unfastened the knot beside him, and threw the end over a higher
limb, and hauled up the slack from Ess, and dropped his own end, and
came sliding down the double leathers.
“We’ll have to try another dodge,” he said. “You can use your own
strength better to help me this way.”
He knotted a loop in one end, and passed it over her head and down to
form a seat for her.
“Now, you sit in that,” he said, “and I’ll haul my end down, and you
keep taking a fresh grip of the same downhaul end and pull it down at
the same time, and that hoists you up. Now—ready—heave. Hoo-ray. Heave
again.”
It was something of a struggle still, but this time it was successful,
and Ess seated herself in the crotch of the tree.
Dolly tied one end to the seat of the buggy and lifted it from its
place, and after Ess had made an end fast, swarmed up to her.
“We win,” he exclaimed triumphantly. “Now for our house-furnishing”;
and he hoisted up the buggy seat, and, when he had found a convenient
branch and fork, hauled the seat to it, and jambed it there, and lashed
it securely. “Walk into my parlour,” he cried, and helped her to
clamber to the seat, and when she was safely on it, showed her where to
place her feet on a lower branch, and passed a turn of the rein round
her and to the back of the seat. “Hoo-ray again,” he said at last. “Now
you can’t fall out if you tried, and you can sit comfy or curl up on
the seat, and have a snooze if you like.”
She smiled at him, very faintly, for the climb had exhausted her and it
made her giddy to look down. So Dolly climbed to the seat beside her,
and they sat together and watched the light spread and spread till they
could see to the horizon all round them. And all the horizon was water.
There was still a patch of ground a couple of hundred yards from the
tree, and the two horses and a heaving, crawling mass of rabbits were
on it, but even as they watched the horses one after the other waded
into the water. They waded a long way—over a quarter of a mile—before
the water reached to their flanks, but after that it deepened quickly,
and they saw the horses sink and bob up again, and go swimming
downstream.
Dolly waved his hat to them. “Good-bye, old Spot and Dot,” he called,
“and good luck to you.”
The water was still rising, and the buggy lifted gently and floated
slowly till the current caught it, and it went spinning away towards
the river. The rabbits on the patch of ground were being constantly
swept off and carried struggling past the tree, swimming frantically
and even trying to clamber and claw at the smooth trunk. Ess shuddered
and put fingers to ears to shut out their squeals as the water carried
them off; but soon the last of them went, and the water flowed over the
last of the patch, with only a slight ripple and downward slide to mark
where it had been.
Wreckage of all sorts began to swirl down past them. The tree appeared
to stand in some current, and they would see various objects appear far
off, and slew round and come sliding swiftly down close to them. There
were innumerable drowned sheep; a few cattle and, once, a bullock, with
his head high out of the water and swimming strongly; a litter of
planks and beams and rafters, which had once been some sort of hut, but
was now no more than a jumble of timber; bushes, trees, with the leaved
branches dipping and twisting, and heavy dead logs. Dolly pointed out a
square table sailing down with its legs in the air, and then a rough
home-made chair bobbing after it, and he joked about swimming after
them and adding to the house furniture.
But even Dolly’s spirits were almost dying out, although he still made
desperate efforts to be cheerful and make light of their position. Ess
sat leaning against him, and when Dolly felt her body sink gently to
his, and looked down and saw her eyes closed, he slipped an arm about
her to support her, and braced himself to sit steady while she slept.
His eyes kept a ceaseless watch round the horizon for signs of rescue,
although he was almost afraid to think whether they were even likely to
have been missed. Nothing came in sight but the long procession of
drowned animals and all the litter of the wreckage of the flood. A huge
tree had caught its branches on the shallow patch above them, but it
gradually twisted and worked free, and slid down to them, and wedged
itself firmly with the trunk of their standing tree in its fork. It
stuck there, held by the pressure of the water, and presently a long
bare trunk sailed down, checked at the shallow, swung round, and slid
over with a rush, struck the standing tree with a shock that made it
quiver, and woke Ess with a startled cry, swung again, and lodged
broadside against the tree. The tangled branches of the other tree
helped to hold it, and object after object caught on the two and wedged
there, with the water surging and tearing at them. Dolly watched the
things pile up with a semi-detached sort of interest, till with a shock
he woke to the danger they meant. The tree and the branches they were
lodged in quivered under them like a tuning fork, gently at first, but,
as the barrier grew and offered a larger resistance to the water, with
stronger and stronger vibrations. Their tree tilted a little, and then
cracked loud and ominously, and tilted again to a sharper angle.
And then far off Dolly saw a boat.
He woke Ess, and the two of them coo-eed and waved, and Dolly climbed
higher and pulled his shirt off, and broke a branch and made a flag,
and waved it wildly, till a figure in the boat stood and waved back.
Dolly yelled triumphantly and clambered back to the seat, just as the
tree cracked loudly again and canted still further.
“Just about the nick of time,” remarked Dolly. “This old tree is
gettin’ a bit too shaky a perch for comfort.”
“Why are they so slow?” said Ess, watching the boat labouring towards
them.
“Look down and see the rate the current is running,” said Dolly;
“that’ll tell you why. Lord, don’t I pity them slogging against a
stream like that? I dunno many more heart-breakin’ jobs. Two men
pulling an oar apiece, and the boat loaded deep too evidently.”
“Dolly, what are they doing—where are they going?” cried Ess, in sudden
alarm, as the boat swung broadside to them and commenced pulling away.
A figure in the stern waved again, and Dolly took comfort.
“Pullin’ off somewhere to get out of the run of the current, I expect,”
he said. “They’ll take a sweep round and drop down on us most likely.”
That was evidently the plan, for they saw the boat curve round again a
full mile off on its new course, and begin to struggle upstream again,
and now it appeared to move faster. Dolly wished most fervently that
the rescuers could realise the plight they were in, and gauged with
some anxiety the angle they were heeling to.
It would be fully an hour, and perhaps two, before the boat could win
to them, he calculated, and then set to work to cast off the lashing of
reins round the seat, and made Ess move to a less comfortable but more
safe position, and lowered his rope and swung down, and tried to push
and pull some of the barrier away. He could move nothing but the very
slightest and least of the obstacles, and several wettings were the
only results of his labour.
He gave it up at last, and climbed back up the sloping trunk to wait
with Ess and all the patience they could command for the slow approach
of the rescue.
They saw the boat turn at last, and come shooting across and downstream
to them, and, heart in mouth, waited to see whether it would reach them
or be swept past. The men were pulling desperately, and the boat forged
slowly across. They could see now that there was another lad and a
woman and two children in the boat, and again Dolly murmured sympathy
for the slog the rowers were having.
The boat was almost abreast of them now, but fully a hundred yards out,
when it spun round head to stream and edged slowly in, the rowers
fighting hard to hold their position, and doing that and no more.
“It’s Steve,” said Dolly, suddenly, “good old Steve.” He stood and
waved his hat, and yelled cheers and encouragement to the boat.
“Go it then—all together—hup—hup. Well ro-o-owed. Get your hands away,
bow—lift ’er—lift’er.” He was hopping with excitement. “They’ll do it,
Miss Ess. Look at ’em. Wish I had one of those oars.” He stood and
yelled again, and now they could see clearly the set faces and clenched
teeth of the rowers, the dogged heave and strain, the panting recovery,
and again the stubborn pull. They were in the full grip of the current
now, and do all they could, the boat was dropping down and back. They
saw Seaman Dick West look round and say something to Steve, the boat’s
nose slanted in to them, and they swept fast downstream and past the
tree again.
“They’ve missed us,” gulped Ess. “Oh, Dolly.” But almost as if he had
heard the words Seaman Dick shouted to them, “We’re coming,” and bent
his back to the oar again.
“Smart chap that,” said Dolly, with shining eyes. “See the dodge—swing
into the backwater this rubbish is making, and creep up in the lee of
it.” He shouted again, “Well ro-o-owed again. I’ll steer you, boys.
Pull as I say. Pull bow, easy stroke, easy, a couple together now,
pull—pull, you tigers—hup again—easy stroke. Now you’re right—all
together—now you have it.”
The boat was in the dead water behind the barrier now, and came on
easily, although they could see that the rowers were nearly spent with
their efforts. Seaman Dick shouted to them to stand by for the line,
unshipped his oar and rowlocks, and slipped them together into place
for Steve to pull on both oars, and, as Steve kept pulling, lifted his
coil of rope, and flung it looping and untwisting into the tree. Dolly
caught it and took a couple of swift turns, and shouted “Right,” and
the men dropped back in their seats with drooped shoulders.
Steve lifted his head. “You all right there?” he called weakly, and
Dolly shouted cheerful reassurances.
“Take your time and get your wind,” he called. “You must be dead beat.
Don’t I know what it is to be rowed out? Good men.” He hauled on the
rope, and pulled them right up to the driftwood and under the tree.
“Wait a minute,” said Seaman Dick; “I’ll slip up and give you a hand.”
He pulled the boat close in to the trunk, caught the reins that Dolly
had left hanging, and swarmed nimbly up.
“You must be feelin’ pretty bad, Miss,” he said. “But you’re all right
now. We’ll have you in warm blankets in a brace o’ shakes. Let me loop
this line about you.”
“Thank you for coming,” said Ess, jerkily. “It was such hard work too.”
She laughed a trifle hysterically, for the long exposure and the strain
were telling now that the reaction had come. “And—and I thought you
were running off and leaving us.”
Seaman Dick looked keenly at her. “You’re right as ninepence now,
Miss,” he said soothingly. “Don’t worry any more.”
“Right as ni-ninepence,” said Ess. “No—don’t touch me—I’m too wet to—to
touch.”
“Buck up, Miss Ess,” said Dolly, “you’ve been such a brick, y’ know.
Stick it out now.”
“Never mind being wet,” said Seaman Dick, looping the rope about her
dexterously. “We’ll have you dry enough in no time.”
“But I—I’m so wet,” she repeated foolishly, “so wet.”
She clung to the branch when they would have lifted and lowered her,
till Dolly gripped her shoulder and spoke in her ear. “Miss Ess, be a
sport. We’re all pretty near used up, and you’re making no end of
trouble. Just one effort, and it’s over. Now then.”
She gulped once or twice and sat up. “All right, Dolly,” she said. “I’m
sorry; but I’m all right now. I’m ready.”
But her nerves were badly shaken, and she had hard work to hold back a
shriek as she dangled over the water and was dropped gently to the
boat. Steve was waiting to catch and steady her, with love and pity and
joy lighting his eyes.
“Ess,” he said hoarsely, as she reached the boat, “Ess.... Thank
God....”
“Don’t touch me,” she said weakly, “don’t touch me....”
Steve drew back as if the words had been a blow in the face—drew back
and flinched, as he had not drawn back from the blow of her whip; and
Ess sank down in the boat and covered her face with her hands, and
muttered to herself, “I’m so wet—don’t touch me.”
The other woman drew her down beside her, and patted her head and
soothed her, while Dolly and Seaman Dick lowered themselves to the boat.
They pushed off, and Dolly insisted on taking an oar. It would warm
him, he said, and he was longing to handle an oar again, anyway. Seaman
Dick took the other, and they pulled out into the current, and went
shooting downstream and making for the township and the bridge.
And Steve huddled up in the bows with smarting hands that were
blistered and skinned with the unaccustomed work at the oars, and
muscles that ached as if he had been beaten with clubs. He spoke to
Dolly, and answered his questions and listened to his story of their
adventures mechanically. He heard it all dully, as he heard the slow
rhythmitic roll and cluck of the oars in the rowlocks and the rippling
hiss and lap of the water under the bows; but clearer than all during
the long pull back he could hear Ess’s words over and over again,
“Don’t touch me.” He had finished a hard day’s work only to saddle and
ride through the night, and the dangers of the Toss-Up, and the weary
road along the river bank; he had pulled and strained at the oars till
his muscles cracked; he had kept up through it all, because it was for
_her_, and because he lived on the hope that he might find her. He had
listened with beating heart for the sound of her voice through that
last bitter struggle to reach the tree, and he had waited with hope and
love surging through him as she dropped to his arms. But.... “Don’t
touch me ... don’t touch me....”
His hopes had sprung again warm and thrilling, after that letter to her
uncle and the scene with Ned Gunliffe. She had not written him, or
given word or sign that she had turned to him again, but he thought
that after she had seen the sort of man Ned was, she might discount
what he had told her and led her to believe before. Well, there was an
end to all that. Even in her extremity—even when her relief at her
rescue might have blotted out her bitterness—she remembered, and would
not let him as much as lay a hand on her to help her.
She roused a little presently, and asked Steve how he came to be there
and how they had heard at the Ridge of their being cut off, and she
thanked him for coming and for what he had done. And Steve answered
coldly and briefly, thinking she only spoke the words she did out of a
sense of duty, and because she ought to thank him.
And Ess again misunderstood his curtness, and so the breach widened
again that had been so near to closing; and they both sat there with
hearts yearning to each other and the bare boat’s length between them;
only the boat’s length, and that so easily passed. But not so easy to
pass was the length and breadth of the misunderstanding that separated
them, as misunderstandings separate so many others—a tiny stream
perhaps, that runs from the spring of some small trifle, and rises and
swells till it runs as wide and destructive as the floods did that day
over the Coolongolong paddocks.
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