An Awkward Predicament
The girls sprang to their feet. It was unfortunately only too true; the
vessel had steamed past the quay, and was heading out into the bay, away
from the land.
The four looked at each other in consternation too great for words. What
were they to do? Could anybody have imagined a more horrible situation?
They must indeed have made some great mistake.
"Tickets, please!" cried the purser, coming round at this critical
moment to collect the fares, and holding out his hand in anticipation.
"We--we haven't any!" faltered Dora. "We thought you stopped at the
jetty."
"Why, no, miss. This is the Everston boat; we don't stop until Sandsend.
You've got on the wrong steamer, that's what you've done. Didn't you see
the notice up on the gangway? The North End boats have red funnels and a
blue flag. A shilling each, please, to Sandsend, or half a crown to
Everston."
"Oh, can't you turn back, and put us off at the jetty?" implored Dora,
almost crying. "We don't want to go to Sandsend, and certainly not to
Everston."
"And we're in a great hurry," added Aldred.
"Sorry, miss, but it can't be done! The captain won't stop the steamer
for anybody," said the man, smiling.
"Not if we went and asked him ourselves?" begged Phoebe eagerly.
"Not for the Queen of England!" returned the purser, as he waited,
shuffling the tickets and some loose change suggestively in his hand.
The girls felt in their pockets in vain. Most of their substance had
gone on postcards and popcorn, and all they could muster among them was
sevenpence-halfpenny.
"I'm afraid we haven't enough money. We only expected to pay penny fares
to the jetty."
Dora's voice trembled a little. She felt so upset, she scarcely knew
what she was saying, and the others looked equally solemn and concerned.
The purser rubbed his chin, as if in doubt.
"It's an awkward case, certainly," he said. "I can't think what they
were doing at the pier-head to let you come on without tickets. This
boat goes to Everston, you see, and stays the night there, so we can't
take you back to Chetbourne. You'd best get off at Sandsend, and walk
home along the shore. I'll make it all right with the captain about the
fares."
Were ever four wretched girls in such a predicament? It was a judgment
with a vengeance on their naughtiness. To be carried away by the steamer
and set down at such a remote place as Sandsend seemed an appalling
prospect, and they were quite aghast at the idea.
"Well, we have got ourselves into a scrape!" exclaimed Phoebe, as soon
as the purser was out of earshot.
"I was so sure it was the ferry-boat!" sighed poor Dora. "I feel as if I
were to blame for proposing it."
"It wasn't your fault more than anybody else's," said Myfanwy. "I
suppose we ought to have stopped to ask."
"We were in such a hurry!"
"How far is Sandsend from Birkwood?" asked Aldred.
"Six miles. It will take us a most fearfully long while to walk, and
it's four o'clock now."
"Oh, dear! We shan't get in till supper. What will Miss Drummond say?"
"There'll be a regular hue and cry after us."
"What will Blanche and Freda do?"
"I suppose they'll go back, when they can't find us, and report us as
missing. They wouldn't dare to stay in Chetbourne too long, and be late
for tea."
"We're having a free excursion on the steamer, at any rate," said
Aldred.
Dora appeared to think that a decidedly doubtful advantage. She was not
a good sailor, and the sea was rough now that they were outside the bay.
Phoebe, too, began to show signs of distress; and Myfanwy, usually so
rosy and talkative, had suddenly grown unwontedly pale and pensive.
Aldred was the only one who enjoyed the voyage; to the others it was the
reverse of pleasant, and they were much relieved when the vessel at last
arrived at Sandsend. They scurried across the gangway on to the quay
with almost undignified haste.
"Oh, it is nice to feel oneself on terra firma again!" ejaculated Dora.
"Or 'terra-cotta', as the old lady remarked!" laughed Aldred. "I'm
afraid you wouldn't appreciate a yachting cruise, Dora."
"I certainly shouldn't. Nothing would induce me to go. I should be lying
in my berth the whole time, in a state of utter collapse and misery. No
yachting for me, thank you!"
"We'd better ask somebody which is the right way," said Myfanwy. "We
don't want to make any more mistakes."
They found, on enquiry, that the high road ran inland over the downs,
and that, instead of it being only six miles to Birkwood, as Dora had
supposed, it was in reality nearer nine.
"The road twists, and goes round by Greenstaple," said the old sailor
who directed them. "It's only a matter of five miles if you went as the
crow flies, but you'd maybe get lost on the downs. It's about the same
distance along the coast, if you care to go by the shore. The tide won't
be up yet awhile, and you'd have ample time to get round the headland,
if you stepped out fairly well."
The beach sounded so much the most attractive route that the girls at
once decided in its favour. It was a consideration to save four miles,
and they all preferred the seashore to the hills. If they walked fast,
they calculated that it would not take more than a couple of hours, and
they would get back to school just before dark.
"We must 'step out', as the old man advised," said Phoebe. "No one
must slack off, or lag behind."
It was all very well to make good resolutions, but quite another matter
to keep them. The beach near Sandsend was an especially fascinating part
of the coast. It abounded with little, shallow pools among the rocks,
where such a variety of beautiful anemones, madrepores, sea-cucumbers,
and other marine objects might be seen that it almost resembled an
aquarium. None of these treasures were to be found at Birkwood, where
the cliffs were of a different geological formation; indeed, these
particular few miles of shore were a noted spot for zoologists, and
could show more choice species than anywhere else within a radius of
fifty miles. It was not astonishing, therefore, that the girls stopped
to marvel at some of these flowers of the sea, to watch the anemones
stretching out their delicate, brilliantly coloured tentacles, to admire
the corallines or the many strange forms of zoophytes, to chase spider
crabs, and to pick up rare shells, and gather some of the lovely
seaweeds that fringed the pools. They quite forgot the time, and went
dawdling on from one interesting rocky basin to another, wishing they
had a glass jar, or a bucket, in which they could carry some specimens
back to the Grange.
"Don't you think we might put a few anemones in our handkerchiefs?"
suggested Aldred.
"Not an atom of use! They die directly they're out of water. We tried it
once before, and it wasn't a success," replied Phoebe.
"We'll tell Miss Drummond about the place, and ask her to bring us for
an expedition some day," said Dora. "The school aquarium needs
replenishing badly."
They had been walking, or, rather, strolling for about an hour when they
reached a small bay, which lay between two promontories. The water here
was so low that they decided they might as well cross the sands,
instead of keeping close under the cliffs; they made a bee-line,
therefore, for the opposite headland, jumping over the narrow channels
that intercepted their path. On the flat sandbank they found at least a
dozen large jellyfish, left stranded by the tide. Aldred insisted upon
picking up some of these and restoring them to their native element; and
she kept poking about in so many heaps of seaweed, and investigating
such a number of species, that the other girls began to despair of ever
getting her back to Birkwood.
"We shall be all in the dark if we don't mind!" remonstrated Phoebe.
"We've been sauntering along as if we had the whole day before us."
"And as if there were no tide! Just look behind you!" exclaimed Myfanwy.
Phoebe turned round uneasily. What she saw was enough to make her
shout wildly to the others, and set off running as fast as she could
towards the cliff in front. All the time they had been amusing
themselves with the jellyfish, the water had been creeping stealthily
and silently up, and had flowed in an ever-widening channel between them
and the land. Except for a narrow space, which led to the rocks at the
end of the promontory opposite, they were entirely cut off; and unless
they cared to swim it was utterly impossible for them to reach the
beach.
Most of them were good runners, and could do well enough at the school
sports; but it seemed quite a different matter to race with the tide,
and much too risky a performance to be appreciated. They just reached
the rocks before the sands were entirely covered, and were obliged to
splash anyhow through pools, getting their feet horribly wet, for there
was no time to stop and take off their shoes and stockings.
Once on the promontory they were safe enough, and they began to make
their way back towards the mainland, scrambling over the rocks, which
were slippery and slimy with seaweed, and becoming extremely draggled in
the process. There were several claps of distant thunder, and rain,
which had been threatening for some time, suddenly descended in a
drenching stream. The tide came thundering in, dashing great waves
against the rocks, and sending showers of spray to join the rain.
The girls plodded steadily on, hoping that they would soon regain the
beach; but it was hard walking, and they were getting wetter every
minute. All at once they came to a full stop. In front stretched a
channel of water so broad that through the blinding rain they could
barely make out the opposite side, against which some very ugly waves
appeared to be beating. They gazed at each other in blank dismay.
"Perhaps it's nothing but a creek, and we can get round it," said
Myfanwy. "I'm used to this kind of coast in Wales. Let us try to our
left; it looks fairly promising."
She led the way, and the others followed as best they could. It was a
forlorn hope, however. The end of the promontory was completely
surrounded at high water, and was temporarily turned into an island; and
for the time being they were as completely stranded as a crew of
shipwrecked mariners.
"I'm afraid it's no use," confessed Myfanwy, at last. "We've got
ourselves into a tight place, and we shall just have to stay here until
the tide goes down."
"Unless we could manage to swim," suggested Dora, looking dubiously over
the channel to where some heavy breakers were booming against what
seemed through the spray to be a steep and jagged precipice.
"Impossible!" exclaimed Phoebe, without any doubt in her voice. "We
should be dashed to bits in that rough sea. There isn't a spot where we
could land, even if we could struggle across. It would simply be
madness."
"I don't want to try!" declared Aldred, with a shudder. "I can't swim,
to begin with; and even if I could, I shouldn't venture through those
waves. But what are we going to do?"
"Stop here till we can get off, I suppose," said Phoebe, shrugging her
shoulders. "There's nothing else for it. We're in no particular danger,
that's one comfort!"
"Let us climb higher up on to the rocks, and perhaps we may find some
place a little out of the rain," proposed Myfanwy.
After considerable hunting about, they did at last come upon a ledge
that shelved over so as to form a kind of cave; and creeping underneath,
they squatted as close together as they could.
They were feeling the very reverse of jolly. It seemed anything but
delightful to be sitting in a cramped position, wet through, without the
chance of a meal, and with the prospect of spending perhaps the whole
night in such unenviable surroundings.
"I'd give a great deal to be back in the classroom, learning my German
prep.!" groaned Dora.
"I suppose an adventure never feels nice at the time," said Myfanwy.
"No. I can't help suspecting that Stanley, and Shackleton, and all the
explorers didn't enjoy the fun of the thing until they got home and
wrote books about it," agreed Aldred.
"It sounds so thrilling when you read it," continued Myfanwy; "but when
you're cold and wet and hungry, it takes the romance away."
"I wish we hadn't eaten all our sweets," lamented Phoebe; "I'm simply
starving!"
It had grown rapidly dusk; there was not even light enough to see their
watches, but they calculated that the time must be about half-past six.
They were not sure when the tide would be at the full, nor how soon it
would go down again sufficiently to enable them to cross on to the
mainland.
"We certainly can't stumble over these rocks in the dark," said Aldred.
"Unless there's a moon, we're fixed here until morning."
"I can't remember whether there's a moon or not," sighed Dora. "The sun
doesn't rise particularly early either--not until about six, I believe."
"What will they be thinking at the Grange?" said Myfanwy, whose tears
were beginning to wander slowly down her cheeks at the misery of the
prospect in store.
As to that, no one liked to hazard a guess. In all the annals of the
school it had never been recorded that any girls had been lost before;
and they knew that Miss Drummond must be in a fever of anxiety on their
account. The rain kept on steadily, and the time passed by slowly--very
slowly; the long hours seemed interminable. It was most forlorn and
wretched to sit crouched under the rock, with the dripping rain beating
in upon their wet clothes, listening to the sound of the water dashing
below them.
[Illustration: FOUR UNHAPPY TRUANTS]
"It's like a horrible nightmare," said Phoebe. "I wish I could wake
up, and find myself in my own bed in No. 5!"
"It's so much worse now it's dark," groaned Aldred.
She was in a very dejected frame of mind, and would have burst out
sobbing like a baby if she had not been too proud. Her friends were also
in low spirits, and did not keep up their usual flow of jokes and
chatter. All four snuggled as close together as they could, to keep one
another warm, and sat silent, listening to the waves and the rain, till
kind Mother Nature sent merciful sleep, and for a while at least they
were able to forget their troubles.
Aldred had a long and confusing dream. She thought that she saw Mabel in
danger of drowning, and that she plunged boldly into the sea, swam
easily to her aid, and brought her back to shore amid the cheers of the
school; and that Mabel was saying: "I knew you would come to the rescue.
It's not the first time you have done a heroic deed!"
She woke with a start. The words seemed so clear, she could almost
believe Mabel had really spoken them. Certainly she had done nothing
particularly heroic that day; indeed, her conscience told her that she
was mainly responsible for that unpleasant adventure. It was she who had
begged the others to leave the post office, and urged them to go down
the promenade and along the pier. But for her it would not have occurred
to them to break bounds; they would have waited until Blanche and Freda
returned, walked straight back to school, and considered that they had
had an enjoyable afternoon, without transgressing rules. None of them,
however, had accused her of this. They appeared perfectly ready to take
the full blame--indeed, they had hinted that, as a new girl, she would
probably escape the consequences of the escapade more easily than they.
"After all, it's mostly their fault, for they'd no need to come, even if
I asked them," she decided hastily. "I'm not bound to explain everything
and get into extra trouble. No one is likely to ask who suggested it."
She tried to stretch her cramped limbs, and felt so stiff that it was
pain to move. But it was worse to remain in the same position; so,
making an effort, she dragged herself up, and crept out from under the
rock. The rain had stopped, and a full moon was shining outside, so
clearly that she was able to consult her watch and ascertain that it was
a little after ten o'clock. She roused the others immediately.
"Look--look!" she cried, shaking them eagerly. "It's bright moonlight!
The tide will have gone down. We must try to get on to the sands at
once."
Yawning and stretching, the girls emerged from the cave. It was
sufficiently light for them to see their way over the rocks, so they set
off without further delay in the direction of the shore. They were now
able to cross easily at the place where the channel had stretched a few
hours earlier, and found themselves, after a considerable amount of
scrambling, on the beach at the farther side of the promontory.
It was the queerest walk home that they had ever experienced. Sands are
generally associated with blue sky and bright sunshine, and those seemed
very eerie and weird and strange in the moonlight, with the deep, dark
shadows under the cliffs, and the sea gleaming silver in the distance.
With one consent they took each others' arms. Aldred certainly did not
feel sufficiently courageous to walk alone; moreover, she was tired, and
could contrive to lean upon both Phoebe and Myfanwy, who were kind
enough to pull her along without remonstrance.
The sands on this part of the shore were not very firm, and the girls'
feet sank with every step, while they stumbled now and then over stones
or clumps of seaweed. It took a long time to cover the three miles to
Birkwood; the distance seemed twice as far as it would have done by day,
and they were thankful when at last they found the path which they knew
led up the cliffs to the Grange.
There was a light in the house; they could see it gleaming when they
were still quite far off, and it seemed to hold out a promise of food
and rest. As they opened the gate, the gardener's wife came running out
of the lodge. She gave a shriek at the sight of them, and rushed
straight up the drive to tell the news: and the four had barely arrived
at the door before Miss Drummond herself came hurrying to meet them.
"Girls! Girls! Where have you been?" she cried, with such a look on her
pale face that they realized for the first time what she must have
suffered during all the hours of that anxious night.
Freda and Blanche (as the girls had supposed), not finding them at the
post office, had imagined that they must have started home, and had
returned without them. They had been greatly dismayed, when they arrived
at the Grange, to discover that the four had not come back. They
reported their absence at once, and a teacher started for Chetbourne, to
try to find them. When darkness fell, and they were still missing, Miss
Drummond, in the greatest alarm, applied to the police, and bands of
searchers were looking for them in various quarters. It had never struck
anybody that they could have gone on the steamer to Sandsend, which lay
in the opposite direction to Chetbourne.
The four truants were very glad indeed of the hot baths and basins of
bread and milk that were waiting for them. They did not equally
appreciate doses of camphor, but did not dare to remonstrate, being only
too thankful that Miss Drummond had forborne as yet to scold. The
Principal's chief object was to get them to bed, and to ward off any
risk of colds or rheumatism that might follow their many hours of
exposure in wet clothes. Fortunately, her prompt measures had the
desired effect, and no evil consequences ensued. The girls were allowed
to sleep late the next morning, and when they arrived downstairs seemed
quite free from all aches, pains, coughs, sneezes, and other suspicious
symptoms. They were in dire disgrace, however, for now that Miss
Drummond was reassured as to their health, she turned her attention to
their conduct.
"I'm most dreadfully sorry about it," said Mabel to Aldred that evening.
"You see, Miss Drummond has always trusted us so entirely at the Grange,
and this is the first time anybody has ever gone out of bounds. She says
it shakes her confidence in us. I'm afraid she'll stop all exeats for
the Lower School. Of course, I know it wasn't your fault. You're a new
girl, and how could you tell we weren't allowed on the promenade? You
only went where the others took you. You'd no idea you were breaking the
rules, had you?"
Aldred was brushing her teeth at the moment, therefore a grunt was her
only means of reply. Mabel took it as the required denial.
"I was sure you hadn't," she declared triumphantly. "A girl who can do
such splendid things always lives up to them. It was a mean trick to
play on Blanche and Freda, when they had invited you all for a walk, but
I was certain you weren't capable of it. Naturally, you're ready to take
your share of the scolding (I shouldn't have tried to get out of that
myself); but I'm so glad that I, at any rate, know you don't really
deserve it!"