The sands and yeasty surges mix
At midnight in a dreary bay;--
And on thy ribs the limpet sticks,
And o'er thy bones the scrawl shall play.
Tennyson.
Anxiety reigned at Saint Winifred's, succeeded by consternation and
intense grief. Little was thought of the absence of the three boys at
tea-time, but when it came to chapel-time and bed-time, and they had not
yet appeared, and when next morning it was found that they had not been
heard of during the night, everyone became seriously alarmed, and all
the neighbouring country was searched for intelligence.
The place on the cliff where Kenrick had descended was observed, but as
the traces showed that only _one_ boy had gone down there, the
discovery, so far from explaining matters, only rendered them more
inexplicable. Additional light was thrown on the subject by the
disappearance of Bryce's boat, and the worst fears seemed to be
confirmed by his information that it was a ricketty old concern, only
intended to paddle in smooth weather close to the shore. But what
earthly reason could have induced three boys to venture out in such a
tub on so wild a night? That they did it for pleasure was
inconceivable, the more so as rowing was strictly forbidden; and as no
other reason could be suggested, all conjecture was at fault.
The fishermen went out in their smacks, but found no traces, and gained
no tidings of the missing boys; and all through that weary and anxious
day the belief that they had been lost at sea gained ground. Almost all
day Power, and Eden, and Henderson, had been gazing out to sea, or
wandering on the shore, in the vain hope of seeing them come rowing
across the bay; but all the sailors on the shore affirmed that if they
_had_ gone out in an open boat, and particularly in Bryce's boat, it was
an utter impossibility that they could have outlived the tempest of the
preceding night.
At last, towards the evening, the sea gave up, not indeed her dead, but
what was accepted as a positive proof of their wretched fate.
Henderson, who was in a fever of excitement, which Power vainly strove
to allay, was walking with him and Eden, who was hardly less troubled,
along the beach, when he caught sight of something floating along,
rising and falling on the dumb sullen swell of the advancing tide. He
thought and declared at first, with a start of horror, that it was the
light hair of a drowned boy; but they very soon saw that it could not be
that, and dashing in waist-deep after it, Henderson brought out _the
torn and battered fragments of a straw hat_. The ribbon, of dark blue
and white, though soaked and discoloured, still served to identify it as
having belonged to a Saint Winifred's boy; and, carefully examining the
flannel lining, they saw on a piece of linen sewn upon it--only too
legible still--the name "H. Kenrick." Nor was this all they found. The
discovery had quickened their search, and soon afterwards Power, with a
sudden suppressed cry, pointed to something black, lying, with a
dreadful look about it, at a far part of the sand. Again their hearts
grew cold, and running up to it they all recognised, with fresh horror
and despair, _the coat which Walter had last worn_. They recognised it,
but besides this, to place the matter beyond a doubt, his name was
marked on the inside of the sleeve. In one of the pockets was his
school notebook, with all the notes he had taken, and the playful
caricatures which here and there he had scribbled over the pages; and in
the other, stained with the salt water, and tearing at every touch, were
the letters he had last received.
All the next day the doubt was growing into certainty. Mr and Mrs
Evson were summoned from Semlyn, and came with feelings that cannot be
depicted. Power gave to Mrs Evson the coat he had picked up, and he
and Henderson hardly ever left the parents of their friend, doing all
they could to cheer their spirits and support in them the hopes they
could hardly feel themselves. To this day Mrs Evson cherishes that
coat as a dear and sacred relic, which reminds her of the mercy which
sustained her during the first great agony which she had endured in her
happy life. Power kept poor Kenrick's hat, for no relation of his was
there to claim it.
Another day dawned, and settled grief and gloom fell on all alike at
Saint Winifred's--the boys, the masters, the inhabitants. The sight of
Mr and Mrs Evson's speechless anguish impressed all hearts, and by
this time hope seemed quenched for ever. For now one boy only,--though
young hearts are slow to give up hope--had refused to believe the worst.
It was Eden. He _persisted_ that the three boys must have been picked
up. The belief had come upon him suddenly, and grown upon him he knew
not how, but he was _sure_ of it; and therefore his society brought most
relief and comfort to the torn heart of the mother. "What made him so
confident?" she asked. He did not know; he had seen it, or dreamt it,
or _felt_ it somehow, only he felt unalterably convinced that so it was.
"They will come back, dear Mrs Evson, they will come back, you will
see," was his repeated asseveration; and oppressed as her heart was with
doubt and fear, she was never weary of those words.
And on the fourth day, while Mr Evson was absent, having gone to make
enquiries in London of all the ships which had passed by Saint
Winifred's on that day, Eden, radiant with joy, rushed into Dr Lane's
drawing-room, where Mrs Evson was sitting, and utterly regardless of
_les convenances_, burst out with the exclamation, "O Mrs Evson, it is
true, it is true what I always told you. Didn't I say that I knew it?
They _have_ been picked up."
"Hush, my boy; steady," whispered Mrs Lane; "you should have delivered
the message less suddenly. The revulsion of feeling from sorrow to joy
will be too much for her."
"O Eden, tell me," said the mother faintly, recalling her senses
bewildered by the shock of intelligence; "are you certain? Oh, where
are my boys?"
"You will see them soon," he said very gently; and the next moment, to
confirm his words, the door again new open, and Charlie Evson was
wrapped in his mother's arms, and strained to her heart, and covered
with her kisses, and his bright young face bathed in her tears of
gratitude and joy.
"Charlie, darling Charlie, where is Walter?" were her first words.
"What, don't you know me then, mother; and have you no kiss to spare for
me?" said the playful voice of a boy enveloped in a sailor's blue
shell-jacket; and then it was Walter's turn to feel in that long embrace
what is the agonising fondness of a mother's love.
Kenrick was looking on a little sadly--not envious, but made sorrowful
by memory. But the next moment Walter, taking him by the hand, had
introduced him to his mother and she kissed him too on the cheek. "Your
name is so familiar to me, Kenrick," she said; "and you have shared
their dangers."
"Walter has twice saved my life, Mrs Evson," he answered, "and this
time, I trust, he has saved it in more senses than one."
The boys' story was soon told. Just as their boat was beginning to
sink, and the bitterness of death seemed over, Walter caught sight of
the lights of a ship, and saw her huge dark outline looming not far from
them, and towering above the waves. Instantly he and Charlie had
shouted with all the frantic energy of reviving hope. By God's mercy
their shouts had been heard; in spite of the risk and difficulty caused
by the turbulence of the night, the ship hove to, the long-boat was
manned, and the amazed sailors had rescued them not ten minutes before
their wretched boat swirled round and sank to the bottom.
Nothing could exceed the care and tenderness with which the sailors and
the good captain of the _Morning Star_ had treated them. The genial
warmth of the captain's cabin, the food and wine of which they stood so
much in need, the rest and quiet, and a long, long sleep, continued for
nearly twenty-four hours, had recruited their failing strength, and
restored them to perfect health. Past Saint Winifred's Bay extends for
miles and miles a long range of iron-bound coast, and this circumstance,
together with the violence of the breeze blowing away from land, had
prevented the captain from having any opportunity of putting them ashore
until the morning of this day, when, with kind-hearted liberality, he
had also supplied them with the money requisite to pay their way to
Saint Winifred's.
"You can't think how jolly it was on board, mother," said Charlie.
"I've learnt all about ships, and it was such fun; and they were all as
kind to us as possible."
"You mustn't suppose we didn't think of you, mother dearest," said
Walter, "and how anxious you would be; but we felt sure you would
believe that some ship had picked us up."
"Yes, Walter; and to taste this joy is worth any past sorrow," said his
mother. "You must thank your friend Eden for mainly keeping up my
spirits, for he was almost the only person who maintained that you were
still alive."
"And now, Mrs Evson," said Power, "you must spare them for ten minutes,
for the masters and all the school are impatient to see and congratulate
them."
The whole story had spread among the boys in ten minutes, and they were
again proud to recognise Walter's chivalrous daring. When he appeared
in the blue jacket with which Captain Peters had replaced the loss of
his coat, with Kenrick's arm in his, and holding Charlie's hand, cheer
after cheer broke from the assembled boys; and finally, unable to
repress their joy and enthusiasm, they lifted the three on their
shoulders and chaired them all round the court.
You may suppose that it was a joyful dinner party that evening at Dr
Lane's. Mr Evson, as they had conjectured, had heard of his son's
safety in London from the captain of the _Morning Star_, to whom he had
tendered his warmest and most grateful thanks, and to whom, before
leaving London, he had presented, in testimony of his gratitude, an
exquisite chronometer. Returning to Saint Winifred's he found his two
boys seated happily in the drawing-room awaiting him, each with their
mother's hand in theirs, and in the company of their best boy-friends.
Walter was still in the blue shell-jacket, which became him well, and
which neither Mrs Lane nor the boys would suffer him to change. It was
indeed an evening never to be forgotten, and hardly less joyous and
memorable was the grand breakfast which the Sixth gave to Walter and
Kenrick in memory of the event, and to which, by special exception,
little Charlie was also invited.
Rejoicings are good, but they were saved for greater and better things.
These three young boys had stood face to face with sudden death. Death,
as it were, had laid his hand on their shoulders, had taken them by the
hair and looked upon them, and bade them commune with themselves; and,
when he released them from that stern cold grasp, it gave to their lives
an awful reality. It did not quench, indeed, their natural
mirthfulness, but it filled them with strong purposes and high thoughts.
Kenrick returned to Saint Winifred's a changed boy; long-continued
terror had quite altered the expression of his countenance, but, while
this effect soon wore off, the _moral_ effects produced in him were
happily permanent. He began a life in earnest; for him there was no
more listlessness, or moody fits of sorrow, or bursts of wayward
self-indulgence. He became strenuous, diligent, modest, earnest, kind;
he too, like Walter and Charlie, began his career "_from strength to
strength_." Under him, and Power, and Walter, and others, whom their
influence had formed or who had been moulded by the tradition they had
left behind them, Saint Winifred's flourished more and more, and added
new honours and benefits to its old and famous name. At the end of that
half-year Power left, but not until he had won the Balliol Scholarship
and carried off nearly all the prizes in the school. Walter succeeded
him as head of the school; and he and Kenrick (who was restored to his
old place on the list) worked heart and soul together for the good of
it. In those days it was indeed in a happy and prosperous state--
renowned and honoured without, well governed and high toned within. Dr
Lane felt and acknowledged that much of this success was due to the
example and to the vigour of these head boys. Power, when he left, was
beloved and distinguished; Walter and Kenrick trod in his steps. To the
boundless delight of the school they too carried off in one year the
highest open scholarship at each University; and when they also left,
they had been as successful as Power, and were, if possible, even more
universally beloved. Whalley carried on for another year the high
tradition, and, in due time, little Charlie also attained the head place
in the school, and so behaved as to identify his name and Walter's with
some of its happiest and wisest institutions for many years.