In his excitement the founder hastily laid Mace on the couch and rushed
out, when Sir Mark was about to run to the poor girl's side, to seize
his opportunity, and press his lips to hers, but he was forestalled by
Janet, who, with flashing eyes, leaped between them to cry spitefully,
"Nay; and if thou must kiss aught, kiss me. Thou can'st not want to
kiss two maidens in one day."
With an angry ejaculation Sir Mark turned aside and followed the
founder, who was running along the side of the Pool to where a group of
his people were busy round a boat just drawn up close to the edge, with
Father Brisdone and Master Peasegood in the midst, giving directions to
the men who were lifting a couple of bodies towards a shed half-filled
with soft dogwood charcoal.
For it had been an awkward night with Gil Carr and his companion.
They had plunged boldly into the Pool, finding it at the side come up to
mid-thigh, and the bottom sandy; but before they had cautiously
proceeded far, taking care that the water did not splash, it became
shallower, and Gil asked old Wat in a whisper whether they were not too
near the shore.
"No," was the reply; "I know the Pool well; this shallow runs right
across. I've seen the shoals of little fish sunning themselves here by
the thousand till some evil-minded pirate of a luce has darted amongst
them and scattered them like a silver fleet in the Spanish main. You
follow me, skipper, and let me lead thee for once in thy life."
"You were disobeying my orders, Wat," said Gil, in a low whisper, as he
followed his lieutenant. "What were you doing in Master Cobbe's
garden?"
"Courting. Thank God for the ability to court!" growled Wat.
"You dare to own it to my face!"
"Nay, thou'rt behind my back," growled Wat; "but I own it all the same.
Where would'st have been if I had not said to myself, `there's that
pretty little soul Janet longing to see me once again, and as it's
loving--night, and the skipper's courting the mistress, faith I'll go
and court the maid?'"
"After I had forbidden it, Wat!"
"I am a man, all a man, good Captain Gilbert Carr, and I say thank God
for the ability to love, and liking to taste sweet lips."
"Thou arrant old coxcomb," cried Gil, angrily. "Why thou art woman
mad!"
"I am, thank God!" said Wat. "Hah, skipper, what would the world be
without women? Bless their bright eyes, and red lips, and pretty
prattling tongues--mind that hole, it's a bit deeper--I don't know
whether I love best to be kissed or pooked by them."
"You old fool!"
"Ay, to be sure, skipper, it's a man's nature to be a fool over a woman.
It's nature's remedy to keep us from being too wise. As I was saying,
I don't know which I like best. If she kisses and fondles you without a
kick, why it's all sweet sugar and milk and honey, and I smack my lips.
If she cries `kiss me not, old bear,' and struggles and pooks me, and
pretends to tear out my eyes with the ends of her pretty fingers, and
tugs my beard, and pulls out the hairs, why it is pickles and sharp
sorrel-sauce, and hot peppers, and I smack my lips and like it all the
same. Ah, skipper, take all the women out of the world, and you may
heave me overboard whenever you like!"
"Women will be thy ruin," said Gil.
"That's what Mas' Peasegood says, and then he went on at me for an hour
as good as to say if ever I'm damned it will be for a woman's sake,
bless her for it. Mind, here's another hole here. Zooks, I touched a
big eel with my boot."
"But once for all," said Gil, "I will not have thee hanging like a
chicken-thief about Master Cobbe's garden."
"An' where would'st have been if I had not been here to-night, skipper?
Suppose the founder had come running at thee with his naked sword? The
sight of a naked sword always was too much for thee, my lad. Remember
how I taught thee to fence, and you pook me your point the second time
into my thigh. Why, it would have been out sword and at him, and thou
mightest have hurt the old boy."
"Old boy! He's fifteen years younger than you if a day, Wat."
"Bah! Years! What are years? He was born after I was, but look at us.
I'm a younger man than he. A man's not old till he feels old, skipper;
and when he feels old heave him overboard if he be a sailor. If he be a
land-goer, dig a hole in his mother-earth and pack him up warm to sprout
out and grow little boys for the future times. Well, as I said, suppose
you had pricked the old man or he had pricked thee?"
"The better for me it seems," said Gil, grimly. "It would be the high
road to his favour. But are you sure you are right here? How dark it
is!"
"Right? to be sure I am," growled Wat; "right as I was to-night in
having a bit of a talk with pretty Janet, lad."
"And that I forbid for the future," said Gil, stopping with the water
nearly up to his waist.
"Forbid away," grumbled Wat, "but as long as my skipper goes amongst
rocks Wat Kilby goes as well to watch over him the while."
"Then that settles it, Wat," said Gil; "I am going no more."
"Ho, ho, ho!--ho, ho, ho!" chuckled the old sailor. "Sattles! What?
have you and young mistress fallen out?"
"Hold your peace!" said Gil, sharply; "and learn to obey my orders."
"Saints on earth, I'm like so much wax or Stockholm pitch in his hands,
and he does with me as he likes. It's a brave deal deeper here than I
thought, skipper; wait till I have out my blade and feel my way a bit."
He pulled out his sword, and began to sound with it in the darkness;
but, save in the direction of the house and garden, the water seemed to
grow deeper and deeper; and, after taking a step or two in different
directions, the old fellow drew back and paused grumbling.
"It's deeper than I thought," he said; "the water goes down above my
head everywhere. Let's wait a bit."
"What for?" said Gil, angrily. "Do you think the Pool will grow
shallower? This comes of trusting another."
"Well, I thought I knowed the bearings," said Wat.
"What fools we'd look if it were daylight," said Gil; "standing up to
our middles."
"Chesties," said Wat, correctively.
"Well, to our chests or chins, if you like," cried Gil. "Heaven be
praised that it is so dark."
"So don't say I," cried Wat, softly; "for if it was not so dark I could
see which way to steer."
"Do you mean to tell me, Wat," whispered Gil, in a low angry voice,
"that you have persuaded me into trusting to your guidance, and that now
you know nothing of the depth of the Pool?"
"I could have sworn as that little sandy reef ran right across to the
other side."
"And now there is deep water all round."
"Unless we go back."
"Confusion!" ejaculated Gil. "Am I to understand that you don't know
the way at all?"
"Well, skipper," growled Wat, "I won't say I don't know the bearings of
the channels; but if you like to take the rudder I'll give up to you."
This being tantamount to a declaration of his own want of knowledge, Gil
began cautiously to feel his way about, with the result that the first
two steps he took placed him up to his chin in water, that would, he
felt, be over his head at the next.
Dressed as he was, swimming was a most difficult task, the high, heavy
boots he wore filling with water, and being sufficient to drag him down;
and yet sooner or later he felt that he should be obliged to trust to
his powers as a swimmer, and gave the hint to his companion.
"Be ready to swim, Wat," he whispered.
"No, no; there be no need to swim," was the response. "Only hit the
right place, and it won't reach above your boots."
Gil did not respond, but tried in various directions, always to find the
water deepen; and at last he stood with it bubbling at his lips, and he
knew that the next moment he must strike out.
Even now he could have made an effort to go back ashore in the direction
of the house, but it might mean an encounter with the founder, and this
was to be avoided at all hazards, for Mace's sake; and after all, he
thought, what was before them was nothing more than a good swim, for he
never once realised the fact that there was danger in his position: it
seemed more ludicrous than full of peril.
He gave a glance round, and, having decided in his own mind where lay
the shore they sought to reach, he uttered a low warning to Wat, and
tried to wade towards it.
The second step rendered it necessary for him to swim, and striking out
boldly he had gone a few yards before he turned his head to speak to
Wat.
"This way," he whispered; but there was no response for a few moments,
and then, with a hoarse blowing noise, the old sailor spluttered out,
"Why, I went right over my head."
This added to the ridiculous side of the question, and, contenting
himself with bidding Wat keep close, Gil swam on in the direction of the
shore, making very slow progress, and now becoming aware for the first
time of the difficulty of the task he had undertaken.
Wat was swimming close at hand, making a good deal of noise, but Gil
never thought for a moment that he would have any difficulty, and it was
not until they had progressed slowly for about five minutes that the
first intimation of danger came like a chill of dread.
"Can you touch bottom, skipper?" said the old fellow.
"No," said Gil, after a pause. "We are in deep water. Why?"
"Because, if we can't directly, I shall drown!"
"Nonsense, man," whispered back Gil. "Swim slowly and steadily, and we
shall soon reach the shore."
There was no more said for a few moments, and then from old Wat, in a
low panting voice--
"Skipper, I shan't never reach no shore; and this ain't even brackish
water, let alone salt."
"Don't talk," said Gil, sharply; "but swim, man, with a long steady
stroke."
"Not even salt water," said Wat hoarsely, as if he had not heard his
leader's words. "Drowned in a miserable pond."
"Will you hold your peace," whispered Gil, "and swim on, man? Who ever
thinks of drowning at such a time as this?"
"I'm nearly spent," said Wat, hoarsely. "I didn't think it would be so
deep."
It was very hard work to keep himself afloat; and the knowledge that his
old faithful companion and follower was losing heart robbed him of a
good deal of the energy which he had left. But Gil Carr had been reared
amongst dangers, and instead of beginning to lament that they were in
such a condition, and praying or calling for help, he tried to rouse up
more energy both in himself and his follower, though, as regarded the
latter, with but little result, for he awoke more and more to the fact
that Wat's straggles were growing fainter each moment, and that unless
he could aid him he was a drowning man.
He stopped swimming away from him then, and taking a few strokes back,
with his boots seeming to be made of lead, he tried to make out where
Wat was swimming, and only found him by the bubbling water which was
just closing over his head.
It required almost superhuman energy as, with a vigorous snatch, Gil
caught his follower by the beard and drew his face above water, holding
him so while he drew breath.
"No use--save yourself!" panted Wat. "I'm spent, skipper--spent."
"Do as I bid you," cried Gil, angrily. "Turn over--your back--float--
that's well. Now mind: leave me free. If you clutch my arms we shall
both go down."
As he spoke he tried hard to kick off his heavy boots, but they clung to
his legs, and to have continued striving meant to sink. Throwing
himself upon his back then, and with one hand grasping Wat Kilby's hair,
he once more struck out, gazing of necessity upwards at the starless
sky, and feeling more and more that unless some miracle interposed in
their favour they must both lose their lives. It was impossible to tell
in what direction he was going when his every energy was directed to
trying to keep them both afloat; and, strive to contain himself how he
would, there was always the knowledge upon him that, moment by moment,
he was growing weaker.
For the water came more and more over his lips, thundered more heavily
in his ears, and kept, as it were, forcing itself up his nostrils,
burning, and strangling him, and causing such an intense desire to
struggle with all his might for life, that, but for the disciplining of
years and the power it had given him of mastering his own emotions,
there would have been a minute's desperate struggling, a few agonised
cries for help, and then the water would have closed over his head.
The water that had risen at each stroke to his chin was now always above
his lips, then above his nostrils, and it was only by frantic efforts
that he recovered himself for a few moments; but directly after his
heavy boots dragged him lower and lower, and with a gasping cry he gave
one more tremendous stroke, when he felt his head forced in amongst a
clump of reeds, and for the moment he could breathe.
He lay with the back of his head in amongst the reeds for some minutes,
not daring to move lest he should glide back into deep water, but even
now the waves were rippling end playing in his ears. He could not stay
long, however, like that, for he had Wat Kilby to think of; and throwing
one arm back over the reeds he dragged himself more amongst them, and at
the same time pulled Wat close to his side.
How it was done he never afterwards knew, only that he contrived somehow
to rouse the old sailor sufficiently to once more take a little interest
in life, and draw himself over and amongst the reeds.
So far from being in safety, all they had gained was the power to
breathe, for at the least movement the thin, whispering, water-grasses
gave way, and their position was worse.
"Can you hear me speak, Wat?" said Gil at last, in a hoarse voice, as he
felt that he was once more gaining breath.
"Ay, skipper," said the old fellow, faintly; "I be not dead yet."
"Can you draw yourself more amongst the reeds?"
There was a few minutes' pause, and then Wat said with a groan, "No,
skipper. If I move, it means going below; there's nothing to hold on
by."
Gil foresaw that this would be the reply, for on feeling cautiously
round he could only come to the conclusion that they were half floating,
half lying, among some nearly-submerged reeds, and that the slightest
effort to better their condition meant the destruction of the frail
support.
"Wait till you get your breath, Wat, and then shout for help," said Gil.
"Nay, I'll not call," was the hoarse reply. "Do thou shout, skipper."
"I order you to call, Wat," was the half-angry reply; and, in obedience,
Wat uttered a hoarse hail from time to time, for his voice to go
floating over the water, borne by the breeze away from the Pool-house,
and here the two men lay some three hundred yards from the garden, cold,
benumbed, and gradually growing more helpless, while those who were
nearest slept on hearing no cries, and in utter ignorance of the peril
in which the two well-known adventurers lay.
The hails uttered from time to time reached one or two of the cottages,
but those who heard the sounds float from off the lake merely turned
once in their beds, and thought of marsh spirits, or the night-walkers
that had been seen from time to time, passing along the tracks; while
the less superstitious said to one another, "Captain Culverin and his
men be out to-night. What be in the wind now?"
Again and again did Gil make an effort to find where they lay, and see
if he could not reach the boat, and come back to his companion's help;
but the darkness was made more intense by the thick mist which was
heavier than ever. He was rested though, and had the nerve to make a
bold effort, but those boots that clung to his legs far above his knees
were like lead, and he dare hardly stir.
Try how he would, he was fain to conic to the conclusion that he must
lie passive amongst those reeds, saying a few words to Wat Kilby from
time to time, to encourage him; for the old man, sturdy as he was,
seemed to have taken quite a fatalist view of their case.
"Wait for daylight, skipper?" he said, sadly. "No; I think it be
morning that will have to wait for me, and I shan't answer to my number.
The cold water be getting into my joints, and I be too stiff to move."
To remain for long in their cramped and helpless situation seemed to Gil
at first impossible; but hour after hour glided away, and save the
rippling of the water hardly a sound greeted the sufferers' ears. Too
numbed and helpless even to cry out for help, they lay waiting for
morning, hardly hoping to see the dawn, for at any moment a slip would
have sent them into deep water, to go down at once.
Sometimes a soft wind stirred the thick steamy mist upon the water and
rustled the reeds above their heads; while, at intervals through the
night, the cry of some coot or duck floated weirdly across the great
Pool, but, at last, all those things seemed to Gil to be part of a
confused dream, as he grew, more and more numbed and helpless. The
water washed higher over his face, but he could not raise his head to
avoid it, nor disturb the current of his thoughts, which were flowing
placidly enough now, and quite unmingled with despair, along his
life-course; and it seemed ridiculous to him that he, who had braved so
many perils of the mighty sea, should perish on this pitiful pond. Then
he began to think of Mace and her feelings when she heard of his death;
and, with a sigh, he thought it seemed hard indeed that he should die
now when he was so sure of her love. But he whispered a blessing upon
her to the soft summer breeze, and thanked Heaven that they had parted
so happily that night.
Wat Kilby had not spoken for hours, but lay there in a state of torpor,
till suddenly he exclaimed:--
"You there, skipper?"
"Yes, Wat."
"I wouldn't care so much only--"
There was a pause here.
"Only that I have got my bag of tobacco here in my pocket, and it be
quite wet through."
After that, there was utter silence.
Volume 2, Chapter IV.