THE EXPEDITION TO SWALLOW'S CLIFF--CAUGHT BY THE TIDE.
"How far is it?" was Inna's leading question.
"Three miles as the crow flies," returned Dick.
"It would be delightful," smiled she.
"It would be jolly," said Jenny, using a word of Dick's.
"And I hope grand-auntie will let us go," sighed Sybil.
"Oh, she'll be sure to if I stand surety for your safety, like a good
old grandfather," Dick assured them. "And, I say, it ought to be
to-morrow, Willett," he suggested.
"Short notice."
"Yes; but it can be done. I'll see Madame Giche on our way home."
So when the gold was intermingling with the grey under the park trees,
and it was hard upon sundown, the whole party went bounding up the
avenue at the Owl's Nest, the rooks over their heads cawing a noisy
"good night" to them and the world in general. They found Madame Giche
pacing to and fro on the terrace with the peacocks.
At first the aged lady was hard to manage: if her nieces were of the
party, they must take Rance, their nurse, she said; but, as Dick assured
her, there was no need.
"They'll be as safe as safe, dear Madame Giche," were his words, spoken
with the persuasive grace of a courtier, smiling his boyish smile into
her face. "With two such safeguards as Willett and me, they can't come
to any harm--in fact, there's nothing they can come to harm in--'tis a
safe shore, even if they took into their heads to bathe, which none of
the young ladies will, I daresay."
"No, grand-auntie; we don't want to bathe or do anything dangerous,"
pleaded Sybil.
"And we don't want to be babies, and take our nurse," objected Olive.
"Well, dears, you shall have your way," promised over-persuaded
grand-auntie; and so "the midges," to use Dick's words, "won the day."
Oh, the joy of waking with a whole long summer's day of pleasure in
store! An excursion to the beautiful sea--she had scarcely seen it in
her short life.
Inna was up, and dressed and looking out of her chamber window, when
Oscar came into the paddock below to attend to some lambs.
"Hurry up, old lady! 'tis a glorious morning," cried he, looking up and
catching sight of her at the window.
She waved her hand and was gone. She had to fill the vases with flowers;
one she always placed in her uncle's study. Since Christmas Eve, when
she carried in her holly spray, she always contrived some sort of a
nosegay for him.
It was pleasant to hear her tripping feet, and her young voice singing
little snatches of ditties, through the house; to see her stand and feed
the chickens in the morning sunshine. A willing little handmaid was she
anywhere, and to anybody who needed her.
"I know she begins to save me a deal," Mrs. Grant said of her.
"Well, Sunbeam, what do I read in your eyes this morning?" said Mr.
Barlow, meeting her in the passage.
"An excursion to the sea--to Swallow's Cliff."
"'Tis well to be a young lady of leisure. Are you going to foot it?"
"No; we're going in Dick Gregory's donkey-cart."
"Ah! and 'tis well to be young to bear such jolting." He passed on.
The two young people waited for the doctor at the breakfast-table, but
Mr. Barlow did not keep him long; then passed the usually silent meal to
its close, but not before Dick peeped in at the rose-wreathed window,
and intimated by sundry nods that Jenny and the donkey and cart were
waiting outside in the lane. Away went the busy doctor into the passage,
just as Inna was saying--
"Oscar, you haven't told uncle--you ought, you know."
So Oscar, in the spirit of obedience for once, followed him.
"Uncle, may I and Inna go with Dick Gregory and his sister to Swallow's
Cliff to-day?" he asked.
"Swallow's Cliff--that's rather a long walk for a young lady."
"Only three miles, sir, as the crow flies," put in Dick, appearing from
somewhere.
"Yes; but as you're not crows, and can't fly, into the bargain, 'twould
mean more than that to you--or rather, 'tis Inna I'm thinking of," still
objected the doctor.
"You forget the donkey-cart, Dr. Willett; the young ladies will
ride--all of them," observed Dick.
"All?" the doctor stood ready to start.
"Yes, sir; there are four of them: the mid----, Madame Giche's nieces,
Miss Inna, and my sister Jenny."
"Well, I suppose I mustn't be a bear, and say no." Dr. Willett wheeled
round upon Oscar. "Yes, I've no objection; only take good care of the
little girls. A pleasant day to you." The busy physician was gone.
Now a tempest of preparation swept through the house for a few minutes;
then Mrs. Grant stood on the steps at the front door to watch them off.
Dick touched up old Rameses, and drove along the lane with a flourish.
Picking up the midges at the Owl's Nest gates, with many injunctions
from Rance to take good care of her charges, they made the best of their
way onward, not exactly as the crow flies, but taking all the short
cuts adventurous wheels could roll over: the more jolts and bumps the
more the merriment; Jenny driving, the boys on foot. So, without hitch
or hindrance, the sea was reached.
A glorious sight it was: not smooth, calm, and still, but with a
beautiful ripple breaking over it, with glad little waves running here
and there--just the mood to please the children. They all kept to the
boundary-line of shore; there was to be no boating, no bathing: the boys
had bound themselves by promise to Mrs. Grant that there were to be no
seaside pranks or dangerous doings.
"No; no one shall come to a watery grave or an untimely end, if I can
help it--I promise that:" these were Dick's last words to the
housekeeper, giving Rameses the touch which set him off with a bolt. So
now he bade the little girls to pick up shells, look out for mermaids,
and disport themselves in harmless lady-like fashion, while he and Oscar
went here and there, scaled heights, and took a glance seaward from the
height of the Swallow's Cliff.
"But first we'll consult the luncheon hamper," suggested he: which they
did; and a very neat spread it was which the girls laid out for them on
the unfrequented beach. This over, with a lifting of the hat, and
"Good-bye for the present," from Dick, and "Mind, Inna, the midges don't
get into mischief," from Oscar, the two went straying away; and the
girls, having cleared away luncheon, began to enjoy themselves. Such
pretty shells they picked, such beautiful sprays of seaweed, and, oh,
how the waves curled and ran races together! Once and again they saw a
distant ship sail past, and Inna thought of the happy days when her
father and mother would come sailing home in a ship like that. Then they
all ran races and sat in the sun, while Jenny sang one of Dick's songs,
with the refrain--
"Three cheers for the briny-ho!"
and Inna sang one of Mrs. Grant's, with this chorus--
"Ho-ho! for the fisherman's child to-night,
Ho-ho! for the fisherman's wife;
Ho-ho! for the fisherman's bark to-night,
Ho-ho! for the fisherman's life."
By-and-by the boys came back to consult the hamper again--nothing like
the sea to make people hungry, and nothing like the sea to steal away
the time. So down they sat to the delights of pork-pie, sandwiches,
tarts, and the like; and, at last, all had vanished, save a little
lemonade, reserved for fear they should be thirsty at starting. As for
Rameses, he munched his hay and drank his one jar of water, poured into
a bucket which Dick had hung on under the cart.
"The old chap won't be able to drink of the briny," he had said in the
morning, drawing attention to his forethought for the animal's comfort.
"Now, just a whisk round, and we shall have to be moving homeward," said
Dick, consulting his watch as they sat together. "I promised Madame
Giche not to be after sunset, and we're keeping company hours with a
vengeance with our late dinner. Why, 'tis between six and seven
o'clock!"
"There'll be a moon," remarked Oscar.
"Yes; but that's not a sun," returned Dick, with a laugh. Then they all
laughed--they were so happy, so light-hearted and gay.
"Now, you girls, make the most of the next half-hour or so, and then
'twill be, 'Britons, strike home!'"
So Dick admonished them; and then he and Oscar went strolling away for
their last bout, as they called it.
Who does not know how swiftly the last half-hour of a very enjoyable
time whirls away? The four girls sat down in the glory of it all to sort
their shells, arrange their seaweed, and just rest and, as it were,
digest the day's pleasure.
"And there has been no coming to grief, and no anything," remarked
Sybil: a speech which doubtless would have shocked Madame Giche, had she
heard it.
No, so they thought--still, they must have been blind not to see that
foe of foes, which will not be repulsed nor stayed, stealing up and up,
and hemming them in. They must have been blind, as Dick said, shouting
out to them from above their heads.
What had happened? The tide--a high one to-night--had shut them in; the
waters were already beat-beating against a jutting rock, which made a
bend in the shore on their one side; on their other the sea lay a wide
waste of water; there was no retreating or fleeing, for the tide had
shut them in.
Up the rocks they must go, or----the boys held their breath at this
point, talking together above, where the sunlight still glinted about
them, though the grey evening shadows were upon the little band of
terrified maidens, wringing their hands, pale-faced and with startled
eyes, looking this way and that, and seeing no way of escape.
"Oh, Dick! what can we do? You surely know some way to get us away?"
cried Jenny.
But Dick shook his head.
"There is but one way: and that is, you must come up the rocks, and in
pretty quick time too--see that!" A defiant wave broke not far from
them, and dashed its spray over them. "As for old Rameses, he's safe
round the corner, where you ought to be; but if we were to go down and
try to wade in to you on his back, he'd never do it. He's game for
anything a donkey can do, but not for that." So that forlorn hope had to
be given up.
"They must come up here: that's their only chance," said Oscar.
"But how?" was Dick's answer.
"I must try to go down and fetch them up," was the other's reply, with
paling cheeks but resolute eyes.
"Yes," said Dick, peering down; "and if we could land them on that ledge
of rock down there, 'twould be something; the tide may not reach
that--at least, not yet." There was a friendly ledge of rock, not so far
above where the girls stood. "But why should you go down? Let me,"
volunteered ready Dick.
"No," objected Oscar; "let me go. I ought to be game for that." And he
laughed.
"Well, yes, half sailor and all, you ought to know best." How lightly
those boys could speak, though their hearts were throbbing quickly with
the thought of what might happen. "If I had a rope, I'd let you down;
then if you'd land them on the ledge, I'd run for help, for we should
never tug them up here by ourselves."
"No," mused Oscar. "And there is a rope in the donkey-cart--a strongish
one, I think."
Away went Dick as with winged feet, while the other stood crowned with
red sunbeams, and viewed their position. Back came Dick.
"'Twould never bear my weight," observed Oscar, tossing off his jacket
and tightening his belt for action.
"No, but it would steady you, if you'll scramble down; or let me go
down, and you hold the rope--I'm your man for either."
"No, no, I must go down. See there, I can't resist that," whispered
Oscar, pointing below. It was poor little Inna's pale pleading face
upturned to him in silence.
The boys had been talking and doing; the rope was fast round Oscar's
waist: a strong-looking rope, but weak, when one considered that it was
in a sense to hold a life in its keeping.
"Oh, Dick!" cried Jenny from below, "the water is dashing up to our
feet!"
Yes, the boys could see it was so--the twins were clinging together, and
Inna stood with her arms thrown about them both.
"I'm coming!" cried Oscar reassuringly, and stepped over.
"Steady, old man, and the thing is done," whispered Dick, gripping the
rope with his strong young hands.
[Illustration: "IT SNAPPED AND HE WAS GONE."]
It was an heroic feat, yet no more than bold venturesome lads of their
age have done before and since. There were ledges here and there for
strongly planted feet to rest upon, and to which young grasping hands
could cling, although steep as the walls of a house. A giddy descent,
but one to be accomplished with a steady head--that of a half sailor, to
use Dick's words. The girls below were silent; even Jenny held her
breath, although the water now was washing all their feet. Dick held the
rope and his breath also.
But not far had the deliverer gone down his adventurous way when he
stumbled, reeled, his hands forgot to cling, and poor panic-stricken
Dick, who was clinging to that broken reed of a rope, knew it could not
sustain the strain of Oscar's weight; it snapped, and he was gone,
falling down, to be caught by that very ledge of rock upon which he was
to land the girls. He would never do it now; he moaned as he fell, then
he lay, face downward, terribly motionless and still. And the girls were
not rescued.
"Oh, Dick! the water is lifting us off our feet," wailed Jenny.
"Do you think he's dead?" cried Inna, still holding the affrighted twins
in her embrace.
"Jenny, you know how to climb almost like a boy; help Inna to land on
the ledge: there's room," cried Dick in desperation, peering down in awe
at Oscar, lying so still on his narrow resting-place. "Then between you
tug up the twins, and I'll go down to the shore yonder and get help and
a rope, and come down to you."
Thus instructed and admonished, Jenny took heart, and, thanks to the
knowledge of climbing trees which Dick had taught her, she scrambled up
with Inna, and planted her safe by her cousin's side. Then down she slid
again, brave little maiden, like a very boy, and tugged and twisted up
the midges, as they sobbed in their forsaken terror, Inna reaching down
and lending a helping hand.
They were safe at last, for the time being, from the clutching water,
rising and still rising below them; then Dick sped away. But what of
Oscar: was he dead? and what if help should not reach them in time, and
the tide should overwhelm them, after all?