The thrust delivered by Scarlett before the breaking of the oar, aided
by the impetus given by his feet as he fell, sent the boat back into the
rapid stream beyond the eddy; and in spite of the doctor's efforts, he
could not check its course, till, suddenly starting up, he used his oar
as a pole, arresting their downward course as he scanned the surface
towards the piles.
"Sit down, Lady Scarlett!" he cried in a fierce, hoarse voice.--"Hold
her, or she will be over."
Aunt Sophia had already seized her niece's dress, and was dragging her
back, the three women sitting with blanched faces and parted ashy lips,
gazing at the place where Scarlett had gone down.
"Don't be alarmed; he swims like a fish," said the doctor, though grave
apprehension was changing the hue of his own countenance, as he stood
watching for the reappearance of his friend.
"Help! help!" cried Lady Scarlett suddenly; and her voice went echoing
over the water.
"Hush! be calm," cried the doctor.--"Here, quick--you--Mr Prayle! Come
and shove down the boat-hook here. She's drifting. Mind, man, mind!"
he cried, as Prayle, trembling visibly, nearly fell over as he stooped
to get out the boat-hook.
He thrust it down into the water, but in a timid, helpless way.
"Put it down!" cried the doctor; and then, seizing an oar by the middle,
he used it as a paddle, just managing to keep the boat from being swept
away.
They were twenty yards at least from where Scarlett went down: but had
he possessed the power to urge the boat forward, Scales dared not have
sent it nearer to the piles with that freight on board. And still those
terrible moments went on, lengthening first into one and then into a
second minute, and Scarlett did not reappear.
"Why does he not come up?" said Prayle, in a harsh whisper.
"Silence, man! Wait!" cried the doctor hoarsely, as he saw Lady
Scarlett's wild imploring eyes.
"He must have struck his head against a stone or pile," thought the
doctor, "and is stunned." And then the horrible idea came upon him,
that his poor friend was being kept down by the tons and tons of falling
water, every time he would have risen to the top. Two minutes--three
minutes had passed, and, as if in sympathy with the horror that had
fallen upon the group, the noise of the tumbling waters seemed to grow
more loud, and the orange glow of sunset was giving place to a cold grey
light.
Aunt Sophia was the next to speak. "Do something, man!" she cried, in a
passionate imploring voice. But the doctor did not heed; he only
scanned the surface of the foamy pool.
"There, there, there!" shrieked Lady Scarlett. "There, help!--James!
Husband! Help!"
She would have flung herself from the boat, as she gazed wildly in quite
a different direction; and the doctor, dropping the oar across the
sides, sent the frail vessel back from him, rocking heavily; for he had
plunged from it headlong into the rushing water, but only to rise
directly; and they saw him swimming rapidly towards where something
creamy-looking was being slowly carried by the current back towards the
piles. The doctor was a powerful swimmer, but he was weary from his
exertions. He swam on, though, rapidly nearing the object of his
search, caught it by the flannel shirt, made a tremendous effort to get
beyond the back-set of the current, and then turned a ghastly face
upward to the air.
The gig was fifty yards away now, Prayle being helpless to stay its
course; and though the doctor looked round, there was neither soul nor
boat in sight to give them help.
It was a hard fight; but the swimmer won; for some thirty or forty
strokes, given with all his might, brought him into the shallow stream,
and then the rest was easy; he had but to keep his friend's face above
the water while he tried to overtake the boat. For a moment he thought
of landing; but no help was near without carrying his inanimate burden
perhaps a mile, the lock being on the other side, its keeper probably
asleep, for he made no sign.
"Cannot that idiot stop the boat?" groaned Scales. "At last--at last!"
He uttered these words with a cry of satisfaction, for Prayle was making
some pretence of forcing the boat up-stream once more.
The doctor was skilful enough to direct his course so that they were
swept down to the bows; and grasping the gunwale with one hand, he
panted forth: "Down with that boat-hook! Now, take him by the
shoulders. Lean back to the other side and draw him in."
The swimmer could lend but little help; and Prayle would have failed in
his effort, and probably overturned the boat, but for Aunt Sophia, whose
dread of the water seemed to have passed away as she came forward, and
between them they dragged Scarlett over the side.
The doctor followed, with the water streaming from him, and gave a
glance to right and left in search of a place to land.
"It would be no use," he said quickly. "While we were getting him to
some house, valuable minutes would be gone.--Now, Lady Scarlett, for
heaven's sake, be calm!"
"Oh, he is dead--he is dead!" moaned the wretched woman, on her knees.
"That's more than you know, or I know," cried the doctor, who was
working busily all the time. "Be calm, and help me.--You too, Miss
Raleigh.--Prayle, get out of the way!"
Arthur Prayle frowned and went aft. Lady Scarlett made a supreme effort
to be calm; while Aunt Sophia, with her lips pressed lightly together,
knelt there, watchful and ready, as the doctor toiled on. She it was
who, unasked, passed him the cushions which he laid beneath the
apparently drowned man, and, at a word, was the first to strip away the
coverings from his feet and apply friction, while Scales was hard at
work trying to produce artificial respiration by movements of his
patient's arms.
"Don't be down-hearted," he said; "only work. We want warmth and
friction to induce the circulation to return. Throw plenty of hope into
your efforts, and, with God's help, we'll have him back to life."
Naomi Raleigh would have helped had there been room, but there was none,
and she could only sit with starting eyes watching the efforts that were
made, while Prayle tried hard with the oar to hasten the progress of the
boat.
There was no sign of life in the figure that lay there inert and
motionless; but no heed was paid to that. Animated by the doctor's
example, aunt and niece laboured on in silence, while the boat rocked
from their efforts, and the water that had streamed from the garments of
the doctor and his patient washed to and fro.
It was a strange freight for a pleasure-boat as it floated swiftly down
with the stream, passing no one on that solitary portion of the river;
though had they encountered scores no further help could have been
rendered than that which friend was giving to friend.
For the doctor's face was purple with his exertions, and the great drops
of perspiration stood now side by side with the water that still
trickled from his crisp hair.
"Don't slacken," he cried cheerily. "I've brought fellows to, after
being four or five times as long under water, in the depth of winter
too. We shall have a flicker of life before long, I'll be sworn. Is he
still as cold? I can't stop to feel."
Aunt Sophia laid her hand upon the bare white chest of her nephew in the
region of his heart; and then, as her eyes met the doctor's her lips
tightened just a little--that was all.
"Too soon to expect it yet.--Don't be despondent, Lady Scarlett. Be a
brave, true little wife. That's right." He nodded at her so
encouragingly, that, in the face of what he was doing, Lady Scarlett
felt that all little distance between them was for ever at an end, and
that she had a sister's love for this gallant, earnest man.
"Where are we?" he said at last, toiling more slowly now, from sheer
exhaustion.
"Very nearly down to the cottage," replied Prayle; and the doctor
muttered an inaudible "Thank God!" It was not loud enough for wife or
aunt to hear, or it would have carried with it a despair far greater
than that they felt.
"Can you run her into the landing-place?"
"I'll try," said Prayle, but in so doubting a tone, that the doctor
uttered a low ejaculation, full of impatient anger, and Kate Scarlett
looked up.
"Naomi! Quick! Here!" she cried. "Kneel down, and take my place."
"Yes; warmth is life," panted the doctor, who was hoarse now and faint.
"Poor woman! she's fagged," he thought; "but still she is his wife."
There was a feeling of annoyance in his breast as he thought this--a
sensation of anger against Kate Scarlett, who ought to have died at her
post, he felt, sooner than give it up to another. Put the next moment
he gave a sigh of satisfaction and relief, as he saw her rise and stop
lightly to where Prayle was fumbling with the oar.
"Sit down!" she said in a quick, imperious manner; and, slipping the oar
over the stern, she cleverly sculled with it, as her husband had taught
her in happier times, so that she sent the gig nearer and nearer to the
shore. But in spite of her efforts, they would have been swept beyond,
had not the old gardener, waiting their return, waded in to get hold of
the bows of the gig and haul it to the side. As it grated against the
landing-stage, the doctor summoned all the strength that he had left, to
bend down, lift his friend over his shoulder, and then stagger to the
house.
Volume 1, Chapter XII.