The first faint breath of the dawn--that sigh of light of which the air
was scarcely conscious--made him aware as he walked along the sands
of the fact that the beach was strewn with wreckage. He found himself
examining a broken spar upon which he had struck his foot. Further on he
stumbled over a hen-coop, and then again a fragment that looked like the
cover of a hatchway.
He had heard nothing about a vessel's having come ashore during the
tempest of the morning; but there was nothing remarkable in the sudden
appearing of wreckage on this wild Cornish coast. Almost every tide
washed up something that had once been part of a gallant ship. Wreckage
came without anyone hearing of the wreck from which it had come. He
examined the broken spar, and his fancy showed him the scene at the
foundering of such a ship as the _Gloriana_, whose carcase had been
so marvellously uncovered on the Sunday evening. He had had enough
experience of seafaring to be able to picture the details of the
wreckage of such a ship.
He left the beach and went on to the ascent of the higher part of the
shore, thinking that it might be that when the dawn strengthened it
might reveal the shape of some craft that had run ashore on the outer
reef at this dangerous part of the coast; and even before he reached the
elevated ground the dawn light had spread its faint gauze over the
sea, and the shapes of the rocks were plain. He looked out carefully,
scanning the whole coast, but he failed to see any wreck between the
horns of the bay.
But when he had continued his slow walk for a few hundred yards he
fancied that he saw some objects that looked dark against the pale
sands. At first he thought that he was looking at a rock that had some
resemblance to the form of a man; but a movement of a portion of the
object showed that it was indeed a man who was standing there.
Wesley had no mind for a companion on this stroll of his, so he went a
short way inland in order to save himself from being seen, and he did
not return to the sandy edge of the high ground until he judged that he
had gone beyond the spot where he had seen the man. Turning about, he
found that he had done what he intended: he saw the dark figure walking
from where he had been, in the direction of the sea.
But by this time the light had so increased that he was able to see that
the man was walking away from the body of another that was lying on the
beach.
He had scarcely noticed this before the man stopped, looked back, and
slowly returned to the body. But the moment he reached it Wesley was
amazed to see him throw up his arms as if in surprise and then fling
himself down on the body with his hands upon its throat.
Wesley knew nothing except that the man's attitude was that of one who
was trying to strangle another. But this was surely enough. He shouted
out and rushed toward the place with a menace.
The man was startled; his head went back with a jerk, but his hands did
not leave the other's throat. Wesley had to drag him back by the collar,
and even then he did not relax his hold until the body had been lifted
up into a sitting position. The moment the man's fingers were loosed the
head fell back upon the sand.
Wesley threw himself between the two, and the instant that he turned
upon the assailant he recognised John Bennet.
“Wretch!” he cried, “what is it that you would do? What is it that you
have done--murderer?”
Bennet stared at him as if stupefied. Then he burst into a laugh, but
stopped himself suddenly.
“Mr. Wesley, is it?” he cried. “Oh, sir, is't you indeed that pulls my
hands off his throat? There is something for the Devil to laugh at in
that.”
“Man, if you be a man and not a fiend, would you strangle one whom the
sea has already drowned?” cried Wesley.
“I have the right,” shouted Bennet, “for he would be dead by now if I
had not succoured him.”
“If it be true that you saved him from an imminent death, at that time,
wherefore should you strive to murder him now?” said Wesley.
“I did not see his face then--it was dark when I stumbled on him. Only
when I turned about when the dawn broke I saw who he was. Go your ways,
Mr. Wesley. The man is mine by every law of fair play. Stand not between
us, sir, or you shall suffer for it.”
“Monster, think you that I shall obey you while a breath remains in my
body? I shall withstand you to the death, John Bennet; you shall have
two murders laid at your door instead of one.”
The man laughed as before. Then he said:
“That is the point where the devils begin to laugh--ho! ho! John
Wesley!”
“I have heard one of them,” said Wesley.
“Oh, you fool, to stay my hand! Know you not that the man lying there is
none other than he whom Nelly Polwhele has promised to marry?”
“And is not that a sufficient reason why you should do your best to save
him--not take his life away?”
For more than a minute the man was too astonished to speak. At last he
said:
“Is it that you are mad, John Wesley? Heard you not what I said?”
“Every word,” replied Wesley.
“You cannot have taken in my words,” the other whispered. “Think, sir,
that is the foolish thing that stands between you and her--you love
her--I have seen that.”
[Illustration: 0293]
“And I stand between you and him--that is enough for the present
moment,” said Wesley quickly, facing the man, whom he noticed sidling
round ready to leap upon the body lying on the beach.
Bennet saw that his cunning was overmatched. “Fool! I cry again,” he
said in a low tone. “Would not I slay a score such as you and he for
her sake? A man's soul can only be lost once, and I am ready to go to
perdition for her--I have counted the cost. The best of the bargain is
with me! Out of my way, sir--out of my way!”
He took a few steps back, preparing to rush at the other. Wesley kept
his eyes upon him and stood with his feet firmly planted to stand
against his violence. But before the man could make his rush there was
sudden flash of light in his face, dazzling him and Wesley as well. The
light shifted.
Wesley turned to see whence it came. There was the sound of a hard boot
on the pebbles and a man's voice said:
“Avast there! Don't move a hand. I have a pistol covering ye, and a
cutlash is in my belt.”
“You have come in good time, whoever you be,” said Wesley. “But you will
have no need to use your weapons, sir.”
“Ay, ay, but if there's a move between ye, my gentlemen, I'll make
spindrift o' your brains. Ye hear?” was the response.
The man, who had flashed his lantern upon them--the dawn was still very
faint--came beside them and showed that he had not made an empty boast.
Wesley perceived that he was one of the Preventive men, fully armed.
He kept the blaze of his lantern on Bennet's face and then turned it on
Wesley, whom he appeared to recognise.
“In Heaven's name, sir, what's this?” he cried.
“Take no thought for us,” said Wesley. “Here lies a poor wretch washed
ashore. Give me your help to bring back life to him. No moment must be
lost--the loss of a minute may mean the loss of his life.”
He was already kneeling beside the prostrate figure. The Preventive man
followed his example. They both exclaimed in one voice:
“He is alive!”
“God be thanked,” said Wesley solemnly. “I feared----”
“You have treated him with skill, sir,” said the man. “You did not give
him a dram?”
“I have only been here a few minutes; the saving; of him from drowning
is not due to me,” said Wesley.
The man had his ration of rum in his knapsack, and was administering it,
Bennet standing by without a word.
“We must get help to carry him to the nearest house,” said the
Preventive man.
“I shall hasten to the village,” said Wesley. But he suddenly checked
himself. He knew that Ben-net's cunning would be equal to such a device
as to get rid of the revenue officer for the few minutes necessary to
crush the life out of the man on the sand. “No, on second thought yonder
man--his name is Bennet--will do this duty. John Bennet, you will hasten
to the nearest house--any house save Polwhele's--and return with at
least two of the fishermen. They will come hither with two oars and a
small sail--enough sailcloth to make into a hammock for the bearing of
the man with ease. You will do my bidding.”
“I will do your bidding,” said Bennet after a pause, and forthwith he
hurried away.
“What is all this, sir?” asked the man in a low tone when he had gone.
“I heard your voice and his--he is half a madman--they had the sound of
a quarrel.”
“You arrived in good time, friend,” said Wesley. “You say this man was
treated with skill in his emergency; if so, it must be placed to the
credit of John Bennet. I can say so much, but no more.”
“I'll ask no more from you, sir,” said the other, slowly and
suspiciously. “But if I heard of Ben-net's murdering a man I would
believe it sooner than any tale of his succouring one. He is a bit loose
in the hatches, as the saying is; I doubt if he will bear your message,
sir.”
“I shall make this sure by going myself,” said
Wesley. “I am of no help here; you have dealt with the half drowned
before now.”
“A score of times--and another score to the back of the first,” said the
man. “I tell you this one is well on the mend. But a warm blanket will
be more to him than an anker of Jamaica rum. You do well to follow
Bennet. Would the loan of a pistol be of any confidence to you in the
job?”
“There will be no heed for such now, even if I knew how to use one,”
said Wesley.
He perceived that the man had his suspicions. He hurried away when he
had reached the track above the shingle.
It was quite light before he reached the nearest cottage, which stood
about a hundred yards east of the Port Street, and belonged to a
fisherman and boatwright named Garvice. The men and his sons had their
tar-pot on the brazier and had already begun work on a dinghy which lay
keel uppermost before them.
They looked with surprise at him when he asked if they had been long at
work.
“On'y a matter o' quartern hour,” replied the old man.
“Then you must have seen John Bennet and got his message?” said Wesley.
“Seen John Bennet? Ay, ay--still mad. Message? No message i' the world.
What message 'ud a hare-brainer like to 'un bear to folk wi' the five
senses o' Golmighty complete?” the old man enquired.
“Do you tell me that Bennet said naught to you about a half-drowned man
needing your help?” asked Wesley.
“No word. Even if so rigid a madman ha' carried that tale think ye we'd
be here the now?”
“'Tis as well that I came, though I thought it cruel to distrust him,”
said Wesley.
He then told the man what was needed, and before he had spoken a dozen
words the old man had thrown down his tar-brush and was signalling his
sons to run down one of the boats to the water.
“Paddle round in half the time takes t' walk,” he said. “No back
breakin', no bone shakin 's my morter. Down she goes.”
Wesley was glad to accept a seat in the stern sheets of the small boat
which was run down to the water, not twenty yards from the building
shed; and when he returned with the three boatmen to that part of the
coast from which he had walked, he found the man to whose aid he had
come sitting up and able to say a word or two to the revenue man, who
was kneeling beside him, having just taken his empty rum bottle from his
mouth.
Old Garvice looked as if he felt that he had been brought from his work
under false pretences. He plodded slowly across the intervening piece of
beach a long way behind Mr. Wesley, and the Preventive man had reported
the progress to recovery made by the other before the Garvice family had
come up. The Garvices had had more than a nodding acquaintance with the
revenue authorities before this morning.
“John Bennet is a bigger rascal than I thought, and that's going far,”
said the Preventive man when Wesley told him that no message had been
given at the Port. “If I come face to face with him, them that's nigh
will see some blood-letting. Why, e'en Ned Garvice, that I've been
trying to lay a trap for this twelve year, lets bygones be bygones when
there's a foundered man to succour.”
“Where is 'un?” enquired the old man with pointed satire, looking round
with a blank face.
The bedraggled man sitting on the beach was able to smile.
“Wish I'd had the head to bid you ask Neddy Garvice to carry hither a
bottle of his French brandy--ay, the lot that you run ashore when the
cutter fouled on the bank,” said the Preventive man.
“Oh, that lot? Had I got a billet from you, Freddy Wise, I'd ha' put a
stoup from the kegs o' the _Gorgon_ into my pocket,” said the old man
wickedly. Mr. Wesley did not know that the _Gorgon_ was a large ship
that had come ashore the previous year, and had been stripped bare by
the wreckers. “Oh, ay; the _Gorgon_ for brandy and the _Burglarmaster_
for schnapps, says I, and I sticks to that object o' creed, Freddy,
whatsoe'er you says.” The _Bourghermeister_ was the name of another
wreck whose stores the revenue men had been too slow to save some years
before.
But while these pleasantries were being exchanged between the men Wesley
was looking at the one in whose interests he was most concerned. He was
lying with his head supported by a crag on which Fred Wise had spread
his boat cloak. His face was frightfully pallid, and his forehead was
like wax, only across his temple there was a long ugly gash, around
which the blood had coagulated. His eyes were closed except at intervals
when he started, and they opened suddenly and began to stare rather
wildly. His arms hung down and his hands were lying limp on the beach
palms up, suggesting the helplessness of a dead man. He was clearly
a large and strongly built fellow, who could sail a ship and manage a
crew, using his head as well as his hands.
The others were looking at him critically; he was so far recovered that
they did not seem to think there was any imperative need for haste in
the matter of carrying him to a bed; although they criticised him as if
he were dead.
“Worser lads ha' gone down and heard of for nevermore,” said the old
fisherman. “Did he know that Squire Trevelyan buries free of all duty
all such as the sea washes up 'tween tides? That's the Vantage to be
drowned on these shores; but the Squire keeps that knowledge like a
solemn secret; fears there'd be a rush--they'd be jammin' one t'other
amongst crags as for who'd come foremost to his own funeral.”
“Tis no secret o' gravity, Ned Garvice, that you give orders to your
boys to carry you down in the cool o' the evening when you feel your
hour's at hand, and lay ye out trim and tidy for the flood-tide, so that
ye get a free funeral, and Parson Rodney's 'Earth t' earth' thrown into
the bargain,” said Wise.
“I've learned my sons to honour their father, and it puts 'un back a long
way in their 'struction to be face to face wi' 'un as has a hardened
scoff for his grey hairs,” said the fisherman. “Go your ways, lads, and
gather limpits so ye hear not evil words that shake your faith in your
ancient father. But what I can't see is how he got them finger-marks on
his neck.”
He pointed to the man on the beach.
“They ha' the aspect o' finger marks, now ha' they not, sir?” said Wise
meaningly, turning to Wesley.
“My thought, friends, amounts to this: I have heard that in cases
of rescue from drowning quickness is most needful for the complete
restoration of the sufferer,” said Wesley. “Now, sirs, I ask you is this
the moment for light gossip, when yonder poor fellow lies as if he had
not an hour's life in his body?”
“There's summat i' that, too,” said old Garvice, as if a matter which
he had been discussing had suddenly been presented to him in an entirely
new light.
“Oh, sir,” said the Preventive man, “when a corpse has revived so far
'tis thought best that he should have a short rest; it kind o' way knits
the body and soul together all the closer. The man is in no danger now,
I firmly believe; but, as you say, there's no need for wasting any more
time. Give us a heave under his other armpit, my lad. Heave handsomely;
there's naught but a thin halfhour 'twixt him and eternity--mind that,
and you won't jerk. Who's for his heels?”
The elder of Garvice's sons--a big lad of twenty--obeyed the
instructions of the revenue man, and Wesley and the old fisherman went
to the feet.
“'Vast hauling! Set me up on end,” said the man over whom they were
bending. He spoke in a low voice and weak; he did not seem to have
sufficient breath to make himself heard.
“Hear that?” said the fisherman with a sagacious wink. “There's the
lightsome and blithe quarter-deck voice o' your master-mariner when
warping into dock and his missus a-waitin' for 'un rosy as silk on the
pier-head.'Tis then that if so be that a man's genteel, it will out.”
“'Vast jaw, my hearty!” murmured the man wearily.
“That's the tone that fills the air wi' th' smell o' salt beef for me
whene'er I hears 'un--ay, sirs, salt beef more lifelike and lively than
this high ship-master who I trow hath ofttimes watched a ration toddle
round the cuddy table like to a guileless infant.”
“Heave all, with a will!” cried Wise, and the four men raised the other
as tenderly as a bulk so considerable could be taken off the ground,
and bore him with some staggering and heavy breathing, down to where the
youngest of the Garvice family was keeping the dinghy afloat over the
rapidly shallowing sand.
An hour later, when the day was still young, Wesley was kneeling by his
bedside giving thanks to Heaven for having allowed him to participate in
the privilege of saving a fellow-creature from death.