ON THE MOAR REEF
This is what had happened.
When Christian and Mona turned away from the house in the quarry, with
its dead man and solitary watcher, they thought they descried a sail far
out in the black void beyond the line of wild sea that was lighted up by
the burning gorse.
"Let's hope they're not in the down-stream, poor fellows, whoever they
are," said Christian. "In a wind like this it would be certain to drive
them dead on to the Moar Reef."
Then they continued their walk, and passed the open shaft in which
Christian had spent his night of peril and agony. There was so much to
say that neither spoke except at long intervals. There was so much else
to feel that neither felt weary, nor remembered the many hours in which
both had been strangers to sleep. They might have wandered on--two dark
figures against the red glow of the great fire--until the steep
declivities of the Poolvash had stopped them, but that the wind rose
higher every moment, and threatened to sweep them from their feet.
"Listen how the sea thunders," said Christian; and just then a cloud of
hissing spray came up to them, high as they were, from the boiling surge
below.
They turned back, laughing as every gust tore them a little apart.
Before they passed the cottage on their return they were conscious of
faint cries from beneath.
"Hark," said Mona, "surely they were voices from the sea."
There could be no doubt of it now. Several voices were calling in
accents of fearful agony, and above the rest was one wild thin shriek.
It seemed to echo in the lowering dome of the empty sky--was such a cry
of distress as might haunt one's dreams for years.
"It's from the boat we saw, and they're on the Moar Reef, too surely,"
said Christian. Then they hastened on.
When they reached the shore they found the sea running high. A long
ground-swell was breaking in the narrow strait between the mainland and
the Castle Isle. Flakes of sea-foam were flying around them. The waves
were scooping up the shingle and flinging it through the air like sleet.
The cries were louder here than above. By the light of Danny's fire it
was but too easy to see from whence they came. Jammed between two huge
protruding horns of rock a fishing-boat was laboring hard in the heavy
sea, rearing with a creak on the great waves, and plunging down with a
crash and groan on the sharp teeth of the shoal beneath her.
The men on deck could be seen hacking at the mast to lighten her, and
cutting away the gunwale forward to ease her off the horns that held her
like a vise. But every fresh wave behind drove her head deeper into the
cleft. The men shouted in mingled rage and fear. They tried to leap on
to the rocks, but the weight of seas breaking on them made this a
perilous adventure, even if the pitching of the boat left it possible.
Christian took in the situation in an instant. Two or three small boats
were lying high and dry on the shore. He ran to them, cut away their
cables, tied them together in strong knots, slung one end round his
waist and passed the other about an old spar that lay close by.
"They're too near for us to stand and see them die," he shouted
excitedly above the tumult of the wind.
Mona clung to him for an instant. Then she loosed him with a fervent
kiss.
In another moment he had plunged into the water.
The strait was very narrow--sixty feet at most from the shore to the
rocks. Yet what a toilsome journey to the man who was wading off with
the rope. The tide was flowing and near the top. It never rose higher
than four or five feet in this channel. A man might cross it if the
swell did not sweep him back.
Through the boiling surf, piercingly cold, Christian struggled bravely.
He was young and strong. He reached the boat at last. It was prancing
like an unbroken horse. But waiting for a receding wave, he rushed in,
laid firm hold of the first man at hand, and carried him back to the
shore. The man had lain in his arms a dead weight. Was he dead indeed?
Mona stooped and looked into his face. "It is Danny Fayle," she cried.
But Danny was not dead. He recovered consciousness, and staggered to his
feet.
Loud and angry cries were now coming from the boat. Mingled with the
curses of rage there came the words, "Why didn't you give us the rope?"
Christian shouted that he was coming back with it. Then, watching again
for an ebbing wave, he plunged off afresh. He reached the boat quicker
this time. Being pulled aboard, he unlashed the rope and strapped it to
the capstan. Then one of the men--it was old Quilleash--dropped over the
side, and drew himself hand-over-hand through the water.
But the rope stretched and creaked with the rolling of the boat. The
spar to which the end ashore was strapped budged not an inch. Mona saw
the danger too late. Before she could ease the rope it snapped.
Now Christian added one more to the number of those on the boat!
Old Billy, safe on shore, sat down on the shingle and sobbed
terror-stricken and helpless. Thank God, the poor despised Danny had his
wits about him. He saw what had happened, and ran for another rope.
Flying into the town, he shouted, "Help, help!" But all Peel seemed to
be at the "carvals." He ran to the church. Screams of laughter and the
tumult of noisy singing came out into the darkness. Scarce knowing what
he did, he burst open the door, and cried, in a piercing voice, "The
'Ben-my-Chree' is on the rocks." Then, with the new rope in his hand, he
fled away to the shore.
When Danny got back a great multitude was at his heels. Old Quilleash
still sat wailing and helpless. Mona ran up and down the shore in an
agony of suspense. The lad looked at neither. The hillside of fire
behind them showed but too clearly what had occurred. Chilled to the
bone by the raw winter wind, four of the men had dropped overboard. A
fifth had leaped into the water, and after a fearful struggle for life
had been lifted off his feet by the breakers and broken on the rocks.
He was seen no more. Only two remained on the deck, and one of the two
was Christian. He could be seen clinging to the bowsprit, which was
shipped. The dingy had been torn from the lugger, and thrown by the
rising tide high and dry on the shingle. Danny pushed it to the water's
edge, jumped in, strapped one end of the new rope about his body, threw
the other to a group of men on the shore, and looked round for
assistance. None stepped out. Many fell back. "It's no use throwing more
lives away," muttered one. "They're past saving," said another. Women
clung to their husbands, and would not let them stir. Other women, the
wives of men who had been on the boat, cried "Help." Little children,
crouching together with fear and cold, wept piteously.
Danny pushed off his boat, but in an instant it was lifted on to the
top of a snow-capped billow and pitched ashore. Danny himself was thrown
out on the shingle. "No use, man," shouted many voices, and the lad was
compelled to desist.
The wind clamored louder every minute. Timbers cut away from the
fishing-boat were swept up with every wave. The surf around the rocks
was like snow. The water was beaten into seething foam around the boat
also; between the billows the long swell was red with the reflection of
the fire, but the sea was black as ink beyond the line of the Castle
Isle, save where, at the farthest line of wave and sky, a streak of
ashen light shone in the darkness.
Danny had coiled the rope from end to end around his waist. Then he
stood and waited. He knew that the tide must soon turn. He knew too
that, having once begun to ebb, it would flow out at this point as fast
as a horse might gallop. But low water never left those rocks dry
between which the fishing-boat was jammed. The men aboard of her would
still need succor. But help might then come to them from the castle side
of the channel.
The crowd knew his purpose, and laughed at it. One grizzled old
fisherman took Danny by the arm, and would have held him. But at the
first glimpse of the reef that ran across the highest and narrowest
point of the strait, the lad shook himself free, and bounded across to
the Castle Isle.
"Brave Danny," said Mona, in a deep whisper.
"Brave? Is it brave? Aw, well, it's mad I'm calling it," said the old
salt.
There is a steep pathway under the east wall of the castle. It runs up
from the shore to a great height above the water. It is narrow enough to
be called a ledge, and the rocks beneath it fall wellnigh precipitously.
Danny ran along this path until he came to the square turret, whose
truncated shaft stands on the southeast corner of the castle. While he
was under the shelter of the walls the wind did not touch him, but when
he reached the east angle a fierce gust from the west threatened to
fling him over into the sea. He tried to round the corner and could not.
The wind filled his jersey like a sail. He took the jersey off and threw
it aside. Then, on hands and knees he crawled round inch by inch,
clinging to the stones of the turret and the few tussacs of long grass
that grew between them.
Every movement he made could be watched from the opposite side of the
channel. The light of the gorse fired over the Poolvash fell full upon
him, and lit up the entire castle and rocks and the shuddering boat
beneath with an eery brilliance. The townspeople were congregated in
thousands on the Horse Hill and the shore of the mainland. "Who's yonder
madman?" cried one. "Danny Fayle," answered another. "No, not Danny, the
gawk?" "Aw, yes, though, Danny, the gawk." Kerruish Kinvig was there,
striding up and down, and shouting like thunder itself above the tumult
of the wind, "Clear the road. Stand back, the ruck of you." There was
nothing else that Kinvig could do. Mylrea Balladhoo had been sent for.
He came and sat down on the spar to which Christian had strapped the
rope. The broken piece still hung to it. Mona stood beside him, and
spoke to him at intervals. He answered nothing, but stared vacantly
before him.
The people held their breath as Danny rounded the turret, expecting
every instant to see him lifted from the ledge and hurled into the surf
beneath. When he had cleared the corner, and stood full in the wind on
the south side of the castle, directly above the two protruding rocks
that held the fishing-boat in their grip, the crowds rushed down the
shore and along the top of the Contrary Head to keep him in view. What
other mad act would the lad attempt?
"He'll go round to the west, and come back on the shingle."
"Not him, man; the shore there is in six feet of water."
Danny emerged presently. He was seen to tie one end of his rope through
a hole in the old castle wall to a huge stone built into it. The other
end was still about his waist. "He's going down the rocks to the boat."
"Gerr out of that. He'd be cut in pieces." "Aw, dear, the poor boy's not
mad enough for that, anyway."
But Danny was going down the rocks. Sharp as needles, with their
thousand teeth turned upward, slippery and icy cold, Danny set his foot
on them. He began his descent with his back to the sea. Clouds of spray
rose from every third wave and hid him from the people. But he was seen
to be going down foot after foot. What had seemed like madness before
began to look like courage now that success appeared possible. It was
neither--it was despair. "Aw, beautiful!" "Beautiful, extraordinary!"
"It's the young Masther Christian he's going down for." "Well, well, the
masther was kind to the boy astonishing." "Poor lad, _there's_ a heart
at him!"
Meanwhile Christian was clinging to the bowsprit. He was chilled near to
losing his hold. He saw Danny with the rope, and wondered if he would
ever reach them. His companion--some said it was the mate, Davy
Cain--saw him also, and the poor fellow was so transported by the
prospect of deliverance that he died on the instant, and was swept away.
Only Christian now remained. Every moment the waves washed over him. He
was numbed past feeling. His hands were swollen to twice their size.
Wondering if when Danny reached him with the rope he would have strength
enough to grip it, he lost consciousness.
When within a yard of the bow of the boat, Danny leaped and landed on
the deck. The people had held their breath while he descended. Now a
great cheer went up on the shore and on the cliff. It rang out above the
clamor of the wind and the hiss of the thrashing billows. But Danny
heard it not. His thoughts were of Mona, and of how she was blessing him
in her heart. As surely as if he heard it with his carnal ear, Danny
knew that even at that moment Mona was praying that strength might be
granted him, and that he might be blessed in the mercy of God forever.
He lifted Christian in his arms. The swollen hands had next to no hold
now. Then the lad set his face afresh to the cruel, black, steep rocks.
Once again a shower of spray hid him from the people. When the white
cloud had fallen back he could be seen half-way up the rock, dragging
Christian on one arm after him.
Could none help him? Yes; twenty hands set out at this moment,
nine-tenths of the peril past. The tide had left a wide bank across the
highest part of the strait, and the water was running out on both sides.
Danny was helped up, but he would not relinquish his burden. Walking
feebly, he carried Christian, who was insensible, along the narrow path
under the east wall back to the shore. The crowd divided for him. He saw
Mona, where she stood with clasped hands beside Balladhoo. Making his
way to her, he laid Christian at her feet.
* * * * *
Danny's life's work was done. He had given back to the woman who was all
the world to him the man she loved.
Mona dropped to her knees beside Christian, and kissed him tenderly.
Danny stood apart in silence, and amid all that throng saw Mona alone.
Then he turned his head aside and looked away over the sea. Only Heaven
knew what his thoughts were in that bitter hour--that blessed hour--that
hour of sorrow and of glory. In this world his days were done. For
Kisseck's death, what remained to him among men? Without Mona's love,
what was left to him on earth?
Christian returned to consciousness. Mona rose up and took Danny's hand.
She would have put her arms around his neck, but he drew away, and
turned his eyes again toward the sea. The longing look came back, but
no tear would start, for the gift of tears had gone forever.
The hum of human voices arose above them. "Poor lad, and his uncle dead
too." "Kisseck?" "Aw, yes, Kisseck." "No." "Yes, though--and shot,
they're saying'." "Never." "Who shot him?" "There's no one knowing
that."
A loud, unearthly peal of laughter was heard above the noise of the
people and the tumult of the storm. Every one turned to look for Danny.
He had gone. The next moment he was seen at the water's edge pushing off
the dingy of the lugger. He leaped into it and picked up an oar. But the
ebbing tide needed no such help. It caught the boat and carried it away
on a huge billow white with foam. In a minute it was riding far out into
the dark void beyond.
Then Mona remembered Danny's strange words two days ago, "I think at
whiles I'd like to die in a big sea like that."
Next day--Christmas Day--when the bleared sun was sinking over the
western bar of the deep lone sea, and Danny's gorse fire on the
cliff-head was smoldering out, a boat was washed ashore in the
Poolvash--empty, capsized. It was the dingy of the "Ben-my-Chree."