SINKING.
Isabel Marlay's first care had been to see that little Katy had a good
hold. Helen Minorkey was quite as self-possessed, but her chief care was
to get into a secure position herself. Nothing brings out character more
distinctly than an emergency such as this. Miss Minorkey was resolute and
bent on self-preservation from the first moment. Miss Marlay was
resolute, but full of sympathy for the rest. With characteristic
practical sense, she did what she could to make herself and those within
her reach secure, and then with characteristic faith she composed her
mind to death if it should come, and even ventured with timid courage to
exhort Katy and Miss Minorkey to put their trust in Christ, who could
forgive their sins, and care for them living or dying. Even the most
skeptical of us respect a settled belief in a time of trial. There was
much broken praying from others, simply the cry of terror-stricken
spirits. In all ages men have cried in their extremity to the Unseen
Power, and the drowning passengers in Diamond Lake uttered the same old
cry. Westcott himself, in his first terror, prayed a little and swore a
little by turns.
The result of self-possession in the case of Isa Marlay and Helen
Minorkey was the same. They did not waste their strength. When people
drown, it is nearly always from a lack of economy of force. Here was
poor little Katy so terrified at thoughts of drowning, and of the cold
slimy bed at the bottom of the lake, and more than all at thoughts of the
ugly black leeches that abounded at the bottom, that she was drawing
herself up head and shoulders out of the water all the time, and praying
brokenly to God and Brother Albert to come and help them. Isa tried to
soothe her, but she shuddered, and said that the lake was so cold, and
she knew she should drown, and Cousin Isa, and Smith, and all of them.
Two or three times, in sheer desperation, little Katy let go, but each
time Isa Marlay saved her and gave her a better hold, and cheered her
with assurances that all would be well yet.
While one party on the shore were building a raft with which to reach the
drowning people, Albert Charlton and George Gray ran to find the old
boat. But the young men who had rowed in it, wishing to keep it for their
own use, had concealed it in a little estuary on the side of the lake
opposite to the village, so that the two rescuers were obliged to run
half the circumference of the lake before they found it. And even when
they reached it, there were no oars to be found, the party rowing last
having carefully hidden them in the deep grass of the slough by the
outlet. George Gray's quick frontiersman's instinct supplied the
deficiency with sticks broken from a fallen tree. But with the time
consumed in finding the boat, and the time lost in searching for the
oars, and the slowness of the progress made in rowing with these clumsy
poles, and the distance of the boat's starting-point from the scene of
the disaster, the raft had greatly the advantage of them, though Charlton
and Gray used their awkward paddles with the energy of desperation. The
wrecked people had clung to their frail supports nearly a quarter of an
hour, listening to the cries and shouts of their friends ashore, unable
to guess what measures were being taken for their relief, and filled with
a distrustful sense of having been abandoned by God and man. It just then
occurred to Westcott, who had recovered from his first fright, and who
for some time had neither prayed to God nor cursed his luck, that he
might save himself by swimming. In his boyish days, before he had
weakened his texture by self-indulgence and shattered his nerves by
debauchery, he had been famous for his skill and endurance in the water,
and it now occurred to him that he might swim ashore and save Katy
Charlton at the same time. It is easy enough for us to see the interested
motives he had in proposing to save little Katy. He would wipe out the
censure sure to fall on him for overloading the boat, he would put Katy
and her friends under lasting obligations to him, he would win his game.
It is always easy to see the selfish motive. But let us do him justice,
and say that these were not the only considerations. Just as the motives
of no man are good without some admixture of evil, so are the motives of
no man entirely bad. I do not think that Westcott, in taking charge of
Katy, was wholly generous, yet there was a generous, and after a fashion,
maybe, a loving feeling for the girl in the proposal. That good motives
were uppermost, I will not say. They were somewhere in the man, and that
is enough to temper our feeling toward him.
Isa Marlay was very unwilling to have Katy go. But the poor little thing
was disheartened where she was--the shore did not seem very far away,
looking along the water horizontally--the cries of the people on the bank
seemed near--she was sure she could not hold on much longer--she was so
anxious to get out of this cold lake--she was so afraid to die--she
dreaded the black leeches at the bottom--she loved and trusted Smith as
such women as she always love and trust--and so she was glad to accept
his offer. It was so good of Smith to love her so and to save her. And so
she took hold of his coat-collar as he bade her, and Westcott started to
swim toward the nearest shore. He had swam his two miles once, when he
was a boy, testing his endurance in the waters of the North River, and
Diamond Lake was not a mile wide. There seemed no reason to doubt that he
could swim to the shore, which could not in any event be more than half a
mile away, and which seemed indeed much nearer as he looked over the
surface of the water. But Westcott had not taken all the elements into
the account. He had on his clothing, and before he had gone far, his
boots seemed to fetter him, his saturated sleeves dragged through the
water like leaden weights. His limbs, too, had grown numb from remaining
so long in the water, and his physical powers had been severely taxed of
late years by his dissipations. Add to this that he was encumbered by
Katy, that his fright now returned, and that he made the mistake so often
made by the best of swimmers under excitement, of wasting power by
swimming too high, and you have the causes of rapid exhaustion.
"The shore seems so far away," murmured Katy. "Why don't Albert come and
save us?" and she held on to Smith with a grasp yet more violent, and he
seemed more and more embarrassed by her hold.
"Let go my arm, or we'll both drown," he cried savagely, and the poor
little thing took her left hand off his arm, but held all the more firmly
to his collar; but her heart sank in hopelessness. She had never heard
him speak in that savage tone before She only called out feebly, "Brother
Albert!" and the cry, which revealed to Westcott that she put no more
trust in him, but turned now to the strong heart of her brother, angered
him, and helped him to take the resolution he was already meditating. For
his strength was fast failing; he looked back and could see the raft
nearing the capsized boat, but he felt that he had not strength enough
left to return; he began to sink, and Katy, frightened out of all
self-control as they went under the water, clutched him desperately with
both hands. With one violent effort Smith Westcott tore her little hands
from him, and threw her off. He could not save her, anyhow. He must do
that, or drown. He was no hero or martyr to drown with her. That is all.
It cost him a pang to do it, I doubt not.
Katy came up once, and looked at him. It was not terror at thought of
death, so much as it was heart-break at being thus cast off, that looked
at him out of her despairing eyes. Then she clasped her hands, and cried
aloud, in broken voice: "Brother Albert!"
And then with a broken cry she sank.
Oh! Katy! Katy! It were better to sink. I can hardly shed a tear for
thee, as I see thee sink to thy cold bed at the lake-bottom among the
slimy water-weeds and leeches; but for women who live to trust
professions, and who find themselves cast off and sinking--neglected and
helpless in life--for them my heart is breaking.
Oh! little Katy. Sweet, and loving, and trustful! It were better to
sink among the water-weeds and leeches than to live on. God is more
merciful than man.