POOR ANTONY WAS DROWNING!
The small river or streamlet close to Antony's camp was called the Burn
o' Bogie, and here in a pretty little boathouse, thatched and cosy,
which Chops had built with his own hands, lay Lotty's yacht the _Jenny
Wren_.
A seaworthy morsel of a boat it was, but certainly not broad enough in
the beam for safety, though she suited Lotty very well indeed.
Nay, more, Wallace often went with his little mistress. For so very
young a dog he was wondrous wise; he used to sit or lie amidships
exactly in the spot where his Lotty placed a shawl for him. And Wallace
must have weighed nearly nine stone, so he might easily have capsized
the skiff, especially when under sail.
On such occasions Lotty would only have to say very quietly before she
hauled off the sheet, 'Trim boat, Wallace,' and some instinct taught him
he must keep well up towards the weaker side.
But, athlete though he was, Antony was no sailor; nevertheless he wished
to be, and was glad enough to be taught even by so young a little
skipper as Lotty. On fine days she took him out with her on purpose, and
with a very few lessons he could manage, or thought he could, fairly
well.
Well, one forenoon he rashly determined to have a little cruise all by
himself.
He forgot that with Lotty in the bows the yacht was not so much down by
the stern as his weight, when alone, placed it. Indeed, while sailing,
if she entrusted the tiller and sheet to him, she herself--the little
skipper--crept right for'ard into the bows and issued her orders from
that position--orders which he took very seriously indeed, for if he had
not done so the _Jenny Wren_ might have broached-to or gone slick on her
beam-ends.
It was some considerable time before Antony got up to obeying all
orders, or even understanding them: 'Ease sheet!' 'Down helm!' 'Luff a
little!' &c. And indeed it is not certain that Lotty, mischievous little
mouse, didn't sometimes invent an order for the sake of confusing her
charge somewhat.
'What is it? How is it?' he would cry. 'Tell me in plain English, Lotty.
What am I to do with this bit of stick?' The bit of stick was the
tiller.
Sometimes she would laugh right out at the serious aspect of his face;
but she would praise him when he did well.
That was an unfortunate forenoon for Antony, when, confident in his own
seamanship, he made
[Illustration: He found himself in the water next moment ... with the
_Jenny Wren_ on her side.
LASS. PAGE 71.
]
up his mind to venture to sea alone in the _Jenny Wren_.
Lotty was at a rehearsal of some kind, else I'm sure she would not have
permitted him.
There was a slight but delightful breeze that day, and he did not mean
to go far. The wind seemed very steady too, so he gained heart as he
went out. 'It is so easy,' he said to himself, 'and so jolly,
that'--well, yes--he would smoke.
Then he made the all but fatal mistake of fastening the sheet until he
should light up.
It wouldn't matter for a minute or two he thought, and surely a boat is
no more difficult to manage than a bicycle.
But a boat really seems to be like a horse, and knows when there is a
lubber at the helm.
It was not a squall--a real squall--only a bit of a puff, but Antony
couldn't let fly the sheet in time, and the tiller got in the way. It is
to be feared that he said, 'Hang the thing!' but he found himself in the
water next moment in a dreadfully awkward position, with the _Jenny
Wren_ on her side.
He sank, and perhaps it was well for him he did, for he managed to clear
his feet; and although the water was roaring in his ears, and he had
swallowed a lot of it, he got to the surface and at once struck out for
the boat, which was only a short distance off.
He thought he could right her. He was mistaken, for he only puffed
himself, and the _Jenny_ filled and slowly sank, sail and broken mast
and all.
Antony could not have believed it was so difficult to swim a long way
with clothes on. At first it appeared to be so easy. But, instead of
getting nearer to the shore, it looked receding from him. He tried
floating. Oh, it was horrible, so he began to swim again; but soon got
excited and put more strokes into it than there was any necessity for.
He tried treading water, but the cruel waves lapped up over his face and
almost suffocated him. Poor Antony was drowning!
He knew not that, at this very moment, two men in a camp-boat were
dashing rapidly on towards him.
Drowning!
Did the events of his past life come up in review before him? No, that
is but landlubbers' nonsense. There were the horrid noises in his ears,
flashes of bright confused light in his eyes, a terrible sensation
of choking, and a feeling of pain in the top of the head,
then--nothingness.
* * * * *
Mary and Skeleton and Chops, with others, were on the beach when,
through the surf, the rescuing boat sped in and grounded. The two men
leapt quickly out and dragged her high and dry, then, to poor Lotty's
horror and anguish, the apparently lifeless body of Frank Antony Blake
was lifted out and laid on the sand.
One of his arms fell right over a tuft of green benty grass whereon a
bush of sea-pinks was blooming. It looked as if in death he was hugging
the flowers.
'He is dead!'
That was Biffins's remark. And he stood there callous-looking, touching
the body with his toe.
The terrible truth is that this matter-of-fact gipsy was wondering how
much he would get for the 'Gipsy Queen' caravan when he resold her.
'No--no--fa--father, he is not dead!'
Lotty could hardly speak for the time being. She felt choking, and tore
at her neck, while her face grew hot and flushed.
But in a few seconds she gasped and recovered self-possession. She now
remembered that she had a book in the caravan which gave instructions
how to restore the apparently drowned. Part of the instructions she
could repeat, and did to the men.
'Do that,' she cried, 'till I come back with the book.'
Then she tore off to the 'Silver Queen,' and, book in hand, when she
returned, she proceeded to issue instructions to the men, which they
tried to obey to the letter.
But she had time to call Chops. 'Mount,' she said, 'mount my horse
Renegade and fly for Dr Wilson.'
In a minute or two more, though white and breathless, Chops was off
like the wild wind along the sands.
On how very small a thread the life of a human being sometimes--nay, but
often--hangs! Lotty, it is true, was doing her best by the rules to
revive the English stranger, if indeed there were the slightest sparks
of life remaining in his heart; and wonderfully calm and determined she
was, determined to do her little utmost until the doctor might come. And
this, too, in spite of the words of discouragement cruelly meted out to
her and her assistants every now and then by Biffins Lee.
'I don't think, boys, you can do much more. It is easy to see the man is
dead. Better carry him up now. Poor fellow, he is in a better world than
we are!'
Long after this these very words seemed to come back to Lotty in all
their heartless force. But at present, hoping against hope, she bade the
men persevere.
'The chances are'--this was Lee's last shot--'that Chops won't find the
doctor at home at this time of the day.'
Now, the fact is, that at this very time good Dr Wilson was on his way
walking to see a case about a mile from the camp.
Chops met him. He slid rather than jumped off the good Renegade, and the
well-trained horse stood instantly still.
Chops had just strength enough to slip the bridle quickly into the
doctor's hand. 'Ride,' he cried. 'Ride, doctor, for the love of our
heavenly Father.'
The doctor was mounted.
'Back, sir, back to our camp. The beach--drowned--Lotty is'----
Dr Wilson was off at the gallop. And such a gallop, for the good animal
appeared to know that it was a case of death or life.
But Lotty--that was the last word he had heard--was a favourite with the
doctor, as with every one who knew her. Oh, to think that she, in her
beauty and youth, should be lying stark and wet and stiff upon the
sands!
Neither whip nor spur needed Renegade, and a real shout went up from
those on the beach as soon as the rider appeared.
He rushed into the crowd. It was only Mr Blake, and he felt relieved.
But he was to do his duty, and had it been Biffins Lee himself, whom the
surgeon neither respected nor loved, he would have done that duty
faithfully and well.
'Back, men, back!' he cried.--'Biffins, keep your people away,' he added
almost angrily, for he could see callousness in this gipsy's hang-dog
face. 'We want air--air.--Mary, go at once and prepare the gentleman's
bed. Heat blankets and boil water.--Lotty, my darling'--this was spoken
most tenderly--'run and assist Mary.--Now, off with your warm coats,
men; strip off the poor gentleman's things; roll him up and keep
rubbing. I'll do the rest.'
In two minutes' time there was blood mantling in Antony's face and a
gasping sigh. In a short time natural breathing recommenced, the pulse
was beating, and slowly, though somewhat irregularly, the wheels of life
were once more moving, and he was able to swallow.
Next morning, though hoarse and in a little pain, Antony was well enough
to be up. He had been very bad during the night, however, and fat Mary
had taken it in turns with the child Lotty to watch by his bedside all
throughout the long, still hours.
Chops brought in his breakfast. Lotty, he told our hero, had gone to lie
down, so he was a little anxious. But about twelve o'clock, lo! the
little gipsy lass herself came tripping up the steps with a lapful of
autumn wild-flowers. Then Antony thrust out both his great strong arms
and pulled her right up and pressed her, flowers and all, to his heart.
'You dear, sweet child,' he said, 'I'll never know how to thank you for
my worthless life. You're the cherub, Lotty, who sits up aloft
to--to'----
'But I mustn't sit up aloft,' she said naïvely, and wriggled down.
Yet in his gratitude he had kissed her brow and her bonny hair, and now
he set her to arrange the flowers, watching her every action as she did
so.
There would be nothing doing in Biffins's camp to-day; and as the doctor
forbade Antony to go out, that same afternoon Lotty and Wallace came to
the 'Gipsy Queen' with the violin. Wallace did not play, though he
looked clever enough for anything; but during the performance of his
little mistress he lay on the sofa on a rug which Antony had put there
for him and never took his eyes off the child, often heaving big sighs,
and one cannot really help wondering what dogs are thinking about when
they behave in this way. Does the playing actually bring them pleasure,
or do they but suffer the music in silent sorrow? Who can answer? One
thing at least is certain: man's friend the dog knows far more than
people who do not know him would give him credit for. But Antony was
really and truly thrilled by this child's remarkable performance. He was
much surprised, however, when presently she suddenly laid down both
fiddle and bow and burst into a flood of tears. Antony was
astonished--thunderstruck, one might say; and if there was anything more
than another that could appeal to this young fellow's manly heart it was
the tears of grief. But she was quickly better and smiling again; only,
although he tried to find out the cause of the sudden outbreak he
utterly failed. All she would say was, 'It is nothing. I will tell you
some time, or Mary or Crona will tell you.'
But the truth was not far to seek; for, just as she was playing, she
happened to look out of the window and her eyes fell on her father. His
face was hard-set and stern; and this, coupled with his language at the
time when Antony was brought to the beach apparently dead, caused Lotty
to believe now that he was really not over-well pleased that his guest
had been brought back to life again.