Boys
Leaning upon their oars, with splash and strain,
Made white with foam the green and purple sea.
Shelley.
In a moment Walter's strong arms had caught him, and lifted him tenderly
into the boat. While the waves tossed them up and down they placed him
at full length as comfortably as they could,--which was not very
comfortably--and though his clothes were streaming with salt water, and
his fainting fit still continued, they began at once to row home. For,
by this time, it was dim twilight; the wind was blowing great guns, the
clouds were full of dark wrath, and the stormy billows rose higher and
higher. There was no time to spare, and it would be as much as they
could do to provide for their own safety. The tide was already bumping
them against the cliff at the place where, just in time, they had
rescued Kenrick, and, in order to get themselves fairly off, Walter,
forgetting for a moment, pushed out his oar and pressed against the
cliff. The damaged oar was weak enough already, and instantly Walter
saw that his vigorous shove had weakened and displaced the old splicing
of the blade. Charlie too observed it, but neither of them spoke a
word; on the contrary, the little boy was at his place, oar in rowlock,
and immediately smote lightly and in good time the surface of the water,
splashed it into white foam, and pulled with gallant strokes.
They made but little way; the waves pitched them so high and dropped
them with such a heavy fall between their rolling troughs, that rowing
became almost impossible, and the miserable old boat shipped quantities
of water. At last, after a stronger pull than usual, Walter's oar
creaked, snapped, and gave way, flinging him on his back. The loosened
twine with which it had been spliced was half rotten with age; it broke
in several places, the oar blade fell off and floated away, and Walter
was left holding in both hands a broken and futile stump.
"My God, it is all over with us!" was the wild cry that the sudden and
awful misfortune wrung from his lips; while Charlie, shipping his now
useless oar, clung round his brother's neck and cried aloud. The three
boys--one of them faint, exhausted, and speechless--were in an unsafe
and oarless boat on the open tempestuous sea, weltering hopelessly at
the cruel mercy of winds and waves; a current was sweeping them they
knew not whither, and the wind, howling like a hurricane, was driving
them farther and farther away from land.
"O Walter, I can't die, I can't die yet; and not out on this black sea,
away from every one."
"From every one but God, Charlie; and I am with you. Cheer up, little
brother, God will not desert us."
"O Walter, pray to God for you and me and Kenrick | pray to Him for
life."
"We will both pray, Charlie;" and folding his arms round him, for now
that the rowing was over and there was nothing left to do, the little
boy was frightened at the increasing gloom, Walter, calm even at that
wild moment, with the calm of a clear conscience and a noble heart,
poured forth his soul in words of supplication, while Charlie, his voice
half stifled with tears, sobbed out a terrified response and echo to his
prayer.
And after the prayer Walter's heart was lightened and his spirit
strengthened, till he felt ready in himself to meet anything and brave
any fate; but his soul ached with pity for his little brother and for
his friend. It was his duty to cheer them both and do what could be
done. Kenrick had so far recovered as to move and say a few words, and
the brothers were by his side in a moment.
"You have saved my life, Walter, when I had given it up; saved it, I
hope, to some purpose this time," he whispered, unconscious as yet of
his position; and he dragged up his feet out of the pool of water in
which they were lying at the bottom of the boat. But gradually the
situation dawned upon him. "How is it you're not rowing?" he asked;
"are you tired? let _me_ try, I think I could manage."
"It would be of no use, Ken," said Walter; "I mean that we can't row,"
and he pointed to the broken oar.
"Then you have saved me at the risk, perhaps at the cost, of your own
lives. O you noble, noble Walter!" said Kenrick, the tears gushing from
his eyes. "How awfully terrible this is! I seem to be snatched from
death to death. Life and death are battling for me to-night; yes,
eternal life and death too," he whispered in Walter's ear, catching him
by the wrist. "All this danger is for me, Walter, and for my sin. I am
like Jonah in the ship; I have been buffeting death away for hours, but
he has been sent for me, he must do his mission. I see that _I_ cannot
escape, but, O God, I hope that _you_ will escape, Walter. Your life
and Charlie's must not be spilt for mine."
It was barely light enough to see his face, but it looked wild and
haggard in the ragged gleams of moonlight which the black flitting
clouds suffered to break forth at intervals; and his words, after this,
were too incoherent to understand. Walter saw that the long intensity
of fear had rendered him half delirious and not master of himself. Soon
after he sank into a stupor, half sleep, half exhaustion, and even the
lurching of the boat did not rouse him any more.
"Walter, he's asleep, or--oh! is he dead, Walter?" asked Charlie, in
horror.
"No, no, Charlie; there, put your hand upon his heart. You see it
beats; he is only exhausted, and in a sort of swoon."
"But he will be pitched over, Walter."
"Then I'll show you what we'll do, Charlie. We must make the best of
everything." Walter lifted up the useless rudder, pulled out the string
of it to lash Kenrick safely to the stern bench by which he lay, and
took off his own coat in order to cover him up that he might sleep; and
then, anxious above all things to relieve Charlie's terror, the
unselfish boy, thinking only of others, sat beside him on the centre
bench, and encircled him with a protecting arm. And, as though to
increase their misery, the cold rain began to fall in torrents.
"O Walter, it's so cold, and wet, and stormy, and pitch dark. I'm
frightened, Walter. I try not to be, but I can't help it. Take me on
your knees and pray for us again."
Walter took him on his knees, and laid his head against his own breast,
and folded him in his arms, and wiped his tears; and the little boy's
sobs ceased as Walter's voice rose once more in a strain of intense
prayer.
"Walter, God _must_ grant that prayer; I'm sure He must; He can't reject
it," said Charlie simply.
"He will answer it in the way best for us, Charlie; whatever that is."
"But shall we die?" asked his brother again, with a cold shudder at the
word.
"Remember what you said just now, Charlie, and be brave. But even if we
were to die, could we die better, little brother, than in doing our
duty, and trying to save dear Ken's life? It isn't such a terrible
thing, Charlie, after all. We must all die some time, you know, and
boys have died as young and younger than you or me."
"Ay, but not like this, Walter: out in these icy, black, horrid waters."
"Yes, they have indeed, Charlie; little friendless sailor-boys dashed on
far-away rocks that splintered their ships to atoms, or swallowed up
when their vessel foundered in great typhoons, thousands of miles away
from home and England, in unknown seas; little boys like you, Charlie;
and they have died bravely, too, though no living soul was near them to
hear their cries, and nothing to mark their graves but the bubble for
one minute while they sank."
"Have they, Walter?"
"Ay, many and many a time they have; and the same God Who called for
their lives gave them courage and strength to die, as He will give us if
there is need."
There was a pause, and then Charlie said, "Talk to me, Walter; it
prevents my listening to the flapping and plunging of the boat, and all
the other noises. Walter, I think... I think we shall die."
"Courage, brother, I have hope yet; and if we die we will die like this
together--I will not let you go. Our bodies shall be washed ashore
together--not separated, Charlie, even in death."
"You have been a dear, dear good brother to me. How I love you,
Walter!" and as he pressed yet closer to him, he said more bravely,
"What hope have you then, Walter?"
"Look up, Charlie; you see that light?"
"Yes; what is it?"
"Sharksfin Lighthouse; don't you remember seeing it sometimes at night
from Saint Win's? Yes; and those lights twinkling far-off are Saint
Win's. Those must be the school lights; and those long windows you can
just see are the chapel windows. They are in chapel now, or the lights
wouldn't be there. Perhaps some of our friends--Power, perhaps, and
Eden--are praying for us; they must have missed us since tea-time."
"How I wish we were with them!"
"Perhaps we may be again; and all the wiser and better in heart and life
for this solemn time, Charlie. If we are but carried by this wind and
current within hearing of the lighthouse!"
The Sharksfin Lighthouse is built on a sharp high rock two miles out at
sea. I have watched it from Bleak Point on a bright, warm summer's day,
when the promontory around me was all ablaze with purple heather and
golden gorse, and there was not breeze enough to shake the wing of the
butterfly as it rested on the blue-bell, or disturb the honey-laden bee
as it murmured in the thyme. Yet even then the waters were seething and
boiling in never-ended tumult about those hideous sunken rocks; and the
ocean all around was hoary as with the neesings of a thousand leviathans
floundering in its monstrous depths. You may guess what they are on a
wild February night--how, in the mighty rush of the Atlantic, the torn
breakers beat about them with tremendous rage, till the whole sea is in
angry motion like some demon caldron that seethes over roaring flame.
Drifting along, or rather flung and battered about on the current, they
passed within near sight of the lighthouse, and they might have thanked
God that they passed no nearer, for to have passed nearer would have
been certain death. The white waves dashed over it, enveloped its tall
strong pillar that buffeted them back, like a noble will in the midst of
calumny and persecution; _they_ fell back hissing and discomfited, and
could not dim its silver or quench its flame but _it_ glowed on with
steady lustre in the midst of them--flung its victorious path of
splendour over their raging motion, warned from the sunken reef the
weary mariner, and looked forth untroubled with its broad, calm eye into
the madness and fury of the tempest-haunted night.
Through this broad track of light the boat was driven, and Walter
shouted at the top of his voice with all his remaining strength. The
three men in the lighthouse fancied indeed, as they acknowledged
afterwards, that they had heard some shouts; but strange, mysterious,
inarticulate voices are often borne upon the wind, and haunt always the
lonely wastes of foamy sea. The lighthouse men had often heard these
unexplained wailings and weird screams. Many a time they had looked
out, and been so continually deceived, that unless human accents were
unmistakable and well-defined, they attribute these sounds to other
agencies, or to the secret phenomena of the worst storms. And even if
they _had_ heard, what could they have done, or how have launched their
boat when the billows were running mountain-high about their perilous
rock?
Charlie had been quiet for a long time, his face hidden on Walter's
shoulder; but he had seen the glare which the light threw across the
waves, and had observed that they had gradually been driven through it
into the blackness again, and he asked, "Have we passed the lighthouse,
Walter?"
"We have."
"Oh, I am so hungry and burning with thirst! Oh! what shall we do?"
"Try not to think about it, Charlie; a little fasting won't hurt us
much."
Another long pause, during which they clung more closely to each other,
and their hearts beat side by side, and then Charlie said, in a barely
articulate whisper--
"Walter!"
"I know what you are going to say, Charlie."
"The water in the boat is nearly up to my knees."
"We have shipped a great deal, you know."
"Yes; and besides that--"
"Yes, it is true; there is a leak. Do you mind my putting you down and
trying what I can do to bail the water out?"
"O Walter, don't put me off your knee--don't let go of me."
"Very well, Charlie; it wouldn't be of much use."
"Good God!" cried the little boy in a paroxysm of agony, "we are
sinking--we are foundering!"
They wound their arms round each other, and Walter said, "It is even so,
my darling brother. Death is near, but God is with us; and if it is
death, then death means rest and heaven. Good-bye, Charlie, good-bye;
we will be close together till the end."