THE PERILS OF SURF-BATHING.
When the day is young and the sky is blue, with just a flake or two of
cloud low down on the horizon; when the sea, in purple slumber like a
dreaming child, is brightened by the flickering glance and shadow on
its rippling swell--and the surf, cresting itself in a wall of
translucent green, leaps up and curls and topples over, crumbling in
snow-white foam upon the sand; when the breeze, still gleeful with the
memory of dew and starlit revels overnight, flits fresh and crisp
beneath the early sunshine,--it is then that it is good to be a
dweller by the shore: to spring from the unconsciousness of sleep into
the luxury of sentient being, with softly fanning airs curling about
the limbs, and wakening in them all their suppleness and strength.
Obeying the summons of the early gong, the young and vigorous of the
guests of the hotel had hastened to the bathing-houses on the beach,
and now came forth a gay and motley company. They were dressed in
suits of red, blue, orange, green, and grey, with hats of straw or
caps of oilskin, or only falling hair by way of head-dress. White
ankles twinkled all along the sand, and the air was musical with
laughter, as they scampered down and halted by the margin of the white
sea-foam,--ladies and men distinguishable only by their hair or beard,
or by less or greater bulk. They arranged themselves like a necklace
of brightly coloured beads, where great and small alternated with each
other. Each smaller figure was attended by one of the sturdy kind, as
though they were about to dance. The surf along that coast breaks in
such massive billows, that the little and the weak can scarce bear up
alone against the whelming rush, or keep their footing. They are
liable to be thrown down by an advancing roller, turned over when it
breaks, sucked outward in the reflux, and carried beyond their depth.
The party joined hands, and then stepped out into the foam, a
string of forty beads, to bind the bosom of the next big wave, so
green and smooth and glassy; but as it yet came on, so huge and
impressive with its crest of foam, like the tossing manes of Pharaoh's
chariot-horses, the line outstepping stopped and wavered and bent, as
one panic-stricken near the centre suddenly bounded back, and left the
wings of the line turned sidewise and irresolute, while the wave was
sweeping up indifferent to the doubts and fears of mortals. It swept
upon the wings all unprepared to meet it, lifting them from their feet
and throwing them down, and dabbling them in the wreck of foam and
sand.
"Oh, Lucy Naylor! that was not fair!--to spring back suddenly and
leave us in the lurch!" rang out from several pairs of feminine lips.
"I will not bathe with you again, if you go on so." But the laughter
of those who were amused at the disaster overbore the displeasure of
the remonstrants; and it being Lucy's first morning, she was forgiven
on promising to be more courageous.
The line formed up once more, and stepped out steadily to meet the
next invader; and on he came, a smooth green hill, with the frothing
and hissing water gathering on the summit like the gnashing teeth of
an advancing monster. The line stood still, with spreading feet, bent
knee, and breath held in. The monster was upon them, and with a little
cry from here and there along the line, smothered and drowned and
overwhelmed in the hissing deluge as it heaved above them, and with a
thunderous roar, it broke up upon the shore behind them, and then drew
back again in hurrying, seething foam, and left the line still
standing. And then there was a sob or two, and a cry, followed by
laughter and little screams of delight The cool sea water had drenched
their shrinking frames, the saltness prickled exhilaratingly on the
skin, and it was, as some one said, "just altogether too delightful."
Again the line was formed, and again. Even the timid ones had grown
courageous. The least expert had learned to shoulder and resist the
coming waves. The world was all coolness and freshness and sparkle,
and each new wave was plunged into with a relish keener than the last,
when came a new disturbance or alarm, more pressing and more vehement
than even the onslaught of the billows upon the inexperienced. It
sounded from the shore, a voice addressing them in accents shrill and
clamorous. They ceased their sport and turned, and beheld a figure
with flushed cheeks, no bonnet, her hair disordered, and her cap
askew, with ribbons fluttering wildly in the breeze.
"Peter Wilkie!" it cried--"Peter Wilkie! Do ye not hear your mother
crying to ye, fit to crack her voice? Let go that woman's hand, and
come out ower this moment!--Peter! Do you hear me? Leave go, and come
out ower. To think that I should live to see the proper up-bringing I
have spared no pains to give ye, circumvented and brought to nothing
by a set of shameless hempies like this!--and you just danderin' in
the middle of them, like a fool goin' to the correction of the
stocks!"
Mr Peter passed through many phases of feeling while he was being
addressed. First, he was ashamed for his mother's sake. He would fain
have taken no notice, and plunged with his companions into the coming
wave, in hopes that others would do the same, and every one's
attention be withdrawn. Then he grew angry, and endeavoured to laugh
off the intrusion as a quaint absurdity; but as the old lady's voice
rose higher, and an audible titter ran along the line on either side
of him, he realised that he must close the scene at once, on any
terms. To outface the clamour was manifestly impossible, while to
yield would at least bring the scolding to an end. With a shrug and a
scowl, which he strove to hide behind a cough, and an acid smile, he
stepped ashore, took his mother's hand, all dripping as he was, and
led her away behind the bathing-houses, where, let us hope, an
understanding and a reconciliation were effected.
The interest of the bathers being thus disturbed, many began to feel
chilly and to think they had had enough. Only the few who were good
swimmers cared to remain, and these struck out beyond the ruin of
breakers, to disport themselves above the placid depths beyond.
In the unbroken water outside, they could frolic at will, diving,
floating, treading water, or swimming further seaward. Naylor, the
uncle of his nieces, who have been mentioned, was one of the eagerest
of all. A man no longer young, but with no sign of coming age save a
thinning of the hair above his temples. Well nourished and prosperous
of aspect, and five feet nine or so in height; broad-shouldered,
muscular, and active, with cheery grey eyes, and a face burnt red by
the sun. His spirits rose with the increasing coolness of the water,
as he swam out and out; and from the sedate middle-aged person he had
been on shore, he seemed changed into a hilarious youth among his new
associates, challenging those near him to strange feats and gambols,
laughing and shouting like a schoolboy.
Suddenly, with a cry, he threw up his hands, and sank beneath the
surface.
"Not a bad imitation of a drowning man; but I wish he would not do it
out here, where the water is deep. It isn't half funny. It spoils
one's stroke, and makes me feel heavy and weak," some one said.
"I am not sure that it was imitation," answered another--a lady this
one. "He may have a cramp. Watch when he rises."
Presently his head emerged gasping from the depths, and Miss Hillyard,
the lady who had spoken, swam to him, and was able to get her fingers
into his hair, just as he was beginning to sink again, and lifted his
head an inch or two for a moment, calling wildly on the others at the
same time to come to her assistance.
"Strike out!" she cried to the drowning man, tugging his hair again,
and feeling her own poise seriously endangered by the effort. "What is
the matter with you?"
"Cramp," he gasped. "Help me on my back. Perhaps I may manage to
float."
"Help! Mr Sefton, help!" screamed the lady; and Mr Sefton, who was
hurrying forward, was able to get a hand under the sinking man's chin
on the other side, before he had drawn his other would-be rescuer
under.
"Hold on now, Miss Hillyard! Don't hurry. Be calm. Steady yourself.
Keep cool. We'll manage it. Trust to the water.... Good! He is up.
Have a care, now. He may clutch without meaning it. Keep clear of his
arms.... Steady, friend. Can't you do something for yourself?"
"I can't. Help me on my back. I cannot strike out one bit. I can
hardly straighten my leg. Ugh!... Never fear, madam, I won't lay hold
on you. Can you help me on my back, do you think? Never mind if you
can't do it. Let go if you feel yourself sinking. One is enough to go
to the bottom."
With teeth tight set, he straightened out his limbs, and held them
motionless; and by-and-by they succeeded in getting him on his back,
and began to tow and steer him to the shore.
Fortunately the tide had not yet turned. It was rising still; so the
water helped them on their long and tardy voyage.
It was an arduous and a tedious task, and but for the tranquil
coolness of the man they were trying to save, it would have been
beyond their power, as they had been a long way out when the accident
occurred. As they approached the surf-line, however, their labour grew
lighter, and presently the heaving swell caught hold of them and swung
them forward with accelerating speed, as though the hungry ocean,
balked of his intended prey, had grown eager to reject the victim he
had failed to drown. Surging and swinging on the translucent tide,
they were borne forward more and more swiftly, and were shot at last
through the curling and overarching bank of surf into shallow water,
where the crowd, which had been watching on the beach, ran in and
dragged the exhausted trio ashore.
"Uncle!" cried his nieces, laying hold on him, all dripping as he was,
and bestowing hugs of congratulation. "You venturesome old man! How
rash to go swimming out so far, this very first morning!"
"I should have been done for, if it had not been for this young lady.
I would wish to thank you, madam, if I could find words; but when it
is one's life that has been saved, one does not know how properly to
express it."
"Pray say nothing," said Miss Hillyard, looking calm and handsome even
in her dripping bathing-dress, her arms so white and strong and
shapely folded on her breast, and the long dark hair hanging like a
mantle down her back. "Do not say a word. Any one who was able to swim
must have done the same. I am glad that I was near at the moment, and
able to be of use."
And then the bathers dispersed to get dried and dressed, leaving the
beach to the waves and the sea-birds undisturbed.
Joseph Naylor was an object of interest for the remainder of that day
to all Clam Beach, as the man who had been all but drowned; but Miss
Hillyard was the heroine for the rest of the season. She had saved a
life, and the circumstances grew more marvellous from day to day, as
each narrator in turn strove to give thrill to the only tale of peril
he had ever assisted at; till at length the young lady, growing bored
with the wondering respect it brought her, and which was far from
being the form of admiration in which she took pleasure, began to deny
the incident altogether, and assure people that it had never taken
place.