VOLUNTEER I.
In some respects the position in which lay all now above water of the
_Seabird_ was favourable to those on board. When she struck she had
had a heavy list to port. As she had struck, so she settled down with
a strong list to port. Thus her high shoulder was against the weather,
and every sea did not sweep her deck. It so happened that the
weather-side of the fore-rigging was in the lee of one of the rocks
between which she was jambed. Thus the heavy broadside wash of the
water did not reach the men, but only the thick spray of waves which
broke on the sea-face of that rock, and the spray of the waves that
struck her aft.
There was no chance whatever of landing on these rocks. They were
almost perpendicular, tapering so as to yield no hold for the foot or
hand, and at their bases was deep water surging tumultuously up and
down.
Once in the unsheltered water on the outer face of that reef, nothing
could save a man in such a gale and sea. His arms, his ribs, his head,
would be smashed against those pitiless fangs of grey smooth stone.
These teethlike rocks rested on an irregular bed of flatter rocks; but
this bed was visible only at low water, and the tide would now be at
its greatest height in an hour, or, taking the wind into
consideration, an hour and three-quarters.
Three of the crew were natives of the little hamlet, and their wives
were spectators of their husbands' danger.
"For God's sake, men, can't you do anything?"
"Anything!" repeated a man sadly, pointing his arm to the sheer inner
wall of the reef. "What could mortal man do there?"
The inner side of the reef differed from the outer one in being much
more regular and straight. It was a wall of low spires, with here and
there an opening down to the water, through which the foam-mantled sea
shot shafts of hissing water. No human hand or foot could rest upon
any part of that inner wall now in view. Nothing grew or lived on the
shoreward side of that reef; not weed or barnacle or mussel. There was
nothing to rest on, nothing to cling to, nothing but the cold clean
side of the pitiless grey stone.
"Can nothing be done? Can nothing be done?" asked the woman, wringing
her hands helplessly. "Are my babies to be orphans, while you all
stand idle there? If you can't do anything to save the men, you might
in all decency turn your backs, and not let them see you with your
hands in your pockets in front of their own doors, while they are
drowning under your very eyes!"
The men drew aside from where the women stood, and held a brief
council.
Meanwhile Cheyne hardly moved. He was sheltered from the full violence
of the wind, but now and then a gust burst in upon him, striking him
full in front. He could see all the figures on the deck, and he had
heard the people say that the undersized man, with the fur-cap tied
over his ears, was the great Duke, and the tall lank man behind him
was the Marquis of Southwold. His thoughts ran:
What an extraordinary thing fate was! Here was he, as it were by a
mere accident, awaiting the arrival of that yacht which for years had
sought and found safety in this harbour, and, by an extraordinary
coincidence, that yacht would never enter this harbour again.
For the first time in all his life he had formed the design of
committing fatal violence upon a fellow human being, and here was that
human being withheld from the sphere of his vengeance by an appalling
disaster! Was this man to be snatched from his clutches now that he
was in sight? Was there no means of rescuing this crew? There was a
double source of regret in seeing those men helpless on the vessel,
and these men helpless here. It was a pity to see the good and useful
lives of the sailors in danger; and it was a pity that, after all,
this man was about to escape his natural and most just vengeance.
After a somewhat lengthened council, the knot of fishermen broke up.
It was plain they had come to the decision of making some effort on
behalf of the unfortunate men in peril. Two men went immediately
towards the cottages; each one entered his own. The man who came out
first carried a long coil of light line, and when the other man, whose
name was Bence, appeared, he had nothing on but his underclothing.
"Bravo, Bence!" cried the men, with a cheer.
They made the line fast round his waist, and in another moment he had
plunged into the sea.
The dangers and difficulties he faced were enormous. Although to the
mind of a sailor the water inside the reef was smooth water, to a
landsman it seemed tempested. No open boat could possibly swim in it,
for the cross-swells and huge choppings formed by the rush of water
through the long narrow slits between the rocks would swamp any
ordinary small boat, such as those at the command of the fishermen.
Besides, the fierce wind bursting through the clefts would almost blow
a small boat out of the water. The anchorage for the yacht and the
fishing-boats was not close in under the reef, but some way inland in
the bay, where, in case of storms, the sea became regular once more,
and any decked vessel might roll lazily to and fro in security through
the strongest north-east wind that ever blew.
The swimmer had to contend with a great number of discouraging
circumstances. The only thing in his favour being that the water was
not very cold. It was his interest to keep as close as possible to the
rocks, for ultimately he had to try and force his way through one of
the openings between them. How this was to be done, no man there could
tell. A man could only try and fail, and be pulled ashore, dead or
alive, if he failed.
The first of these narrow openings he met he passed without any
disagreeable experience. But just as he got under the second one the
creamy foam-mantled water wedges dashed through it, and, striking him,
turned him round and round in the water, and drove him a long way out
of his course.
He recovered himself quickly, and was soon swimming obliquely for the
reef again.
He had not got more than five times his own length when he encountered
the spent torrent from another opening. This did not turn him over,
but it drove him still farther away from the reef.
Another difficulty now was added. Every time a wave burst through one
of those openings, the torrent from it caught the line and drew Bence
away from his right course. He felt this tug him, pluck him from the
straight course, and, although he was not discouraged, he knew the
disappointment of men not full of resources when, in moments of
anxious endeavour, they meet obstacles they are not prepared for.
However, he set his heart manfully to the work, and still kept on
obliquely for the reef. But he gained no ground. He rather lost. Six
of these openings had to be passed, and three out of the six had
delivered the spent force of their torrents against him.
As he got farther and farther from the shore, he had a longer line to
drag through the water, and a greater quantity of the line became
exposed to the disturbing influence of the currents. So that when he
came opposite the seventh opening, the one through which he should
pass with the rope, he was many hundred yards to leeward and a good
deal spent. The original line had been run out long ago, and other
lines had been bent on. But now, when he turned about to swim straight
for the goal, or rather for the rock at the northern side of the
opening he desired to gain, for it was essential he should keep in the
slack water, he had a great weight of line to drag through the water
and against those six adverse currents.
But Bence had a big heart and a good cause, and he knew his mates on
shore were watching him with pride as he tried to fight the wind and
tide in the interest of humanity. Bence was a hero, not a fool; and
although he had, from motives of pure humanity, volunteered to try and
carry the line to what remained visible of the _Seabird_, he did not
hide from himself that one of the richest men in England was on board
that wreck, and that if he were the means of saving that man's life he
might look on his fortune as made.
He swam with all his might, but made little or no progress. Now and
then he looked over his shoulder at some mark on the shore, to find he
was not making more way than a third of what he had counted upon. Into
every stroke he put all his skill and all his vigour. He began to
wonder whether his strength would last until he reached the reef. Even
if he had strength enough to reach the reef and then found himself
with no reserve he could do nothing, for the work to be done on the
reef itself was almost as arduous as that to be done in the water. The
perilous passage through the rock had to be forced--a thing never
before attempted--before those on board could throw him a rope.
With the dogged determination to fight out to the last, he swam on. He
had arranged before leaving that when he threw up his right hand those
on shore were to haul in; when he did that he had been vanquished. At
length, after, a desperate struggle, he reached the reef, and paused
here a moment to rest, treading the water in the shelter of a rock
where there was a slight backwater. But the backwater acting on his
body was not enough to overcome the strain of the water on the line,
and he found himself losing ground slowly. This ground had been too
dearly won to be lightly lost now. The moment had arrived for the
supreme effort. He must force that passage at once, or give up all
hope of success.
Having pulled in some of the slack of the rope by a few vigorous
strokes, and waited until the water of a wave swept past him, he
fronted the opening.
The opening was little more than wide enough to admit a man. He was
nearly spent, and owing to the narrowness of the passage, he was
obliged to change the ordinary arm-stroke for "dog-fashion," and this
caused him a loss. But then, when he could touch the rocks, although
they were as smooth as polished marble, he was able to get a purchase
on them, and force himself forward more successfully than if he had
been swimming in the ordinary way in ordinary water.
But when he looked up to the cleft through which he had to make his
way, his spirit failed him. It was at least fifty feet long and as
straight as a gun barrel. At the exterior mouth it was wider than at
the interior. Hence, as the water rushed through, it would gain in
force and height. Who could withstand such a rush of water? Who, so
spent as he, could hope to stem the fierce fury of that on-rush of the
wave?
These thoughts passed almost instantaneously through his mind. He had
made only four strokes after entering the cleft when he heard the next
wave burst upon the beach, and saw the hoary head of the bore rushing
down upon him.
He prepared to dive. But the fierce waters struck his head and
shoulders before he was under water, and threw him upright in the
water, turned him over on his back and shot him head foremost from the
cleft into the open water beyond. Then the torrent turned him over and
over until he was half stunned, and when at last he came to the
surface, he had only enough strength and consciousness to hold up his
arm, the signal of recall.
The men on shore pulled the line with a will; and in a short time
Bence, the best swimmer of the village, was drawn ashore, defeated,
insensible.
"Send for a doctor at once," said Cheyne, in a quiet tone.
The people, to whom by this time had been added many servants from the
Castle, stared at the stranger in unpleasant surprise. Who was he that
should give orders to them when their own lord and master, their
husbands and their brothers, were in danger?
Cheyne spoke with the easy confidence of one who knew he would be
obeyed.
"Groom," he continued, "take a dog-cart, and don't spare the horse.
Bring back a doctor with you. Mind, not the best, but the nearest! We
shall have other cases presently." And he pointed towards the yacht.
"Not a soul will come ashore alive out of her," said one of the
fishermen.
"How long will it take you to go and come?" asked Cheyne of the groom.
"An hour," said the groom.
"Don't be any longer. By that time there will be work for him."
The groom hesitated a moment.
Cheyne nodded a dismissal to him, turned his back upon him, threw down
his hat, and began undressing.
The men drew closer, until they made a ring round him.
He spoke in his former tone of easy confidence.
"Let the men take that anchor there up to the knoll, dig a hole for
the fluke, and back it up with a grapnel--two claws buried."
"Why, sir," said one of the men doubtingly, "what are you going to
do?"
"When the whip comes ashore, make it fast to the ring of that anchor,
and make the hawser, when it comes ashore, fast to the same ring. I
can see nothing else that will do. We'll manage the rest aboard. When
all is fast, you will haul the men ashore one by one in a basket. Now
there, look alive! Make that line fast round my waist."
"But it would be murder to let you go when Bence has failed."
"By ----, if any man tries to let me in this, there will be murder! Do
you hear?" he roared at the top of his voice, as he drew himself up
like a lion at bay, and shook himself ominously. It was a startling
oath, a startling transition of tone and manner from the tone and
manner of a moment before.
"Give me the line," he cried, "you palsied idiots! Give me the line
and half a pound of sheet-lead!"
The man who held the line handed it to him mechanically.
One of the women whose husband was in the yacht ran to her cottage and
returned, in a few seconds, with a long narrow strip of sheet-lead,
such as fishermen use for making net-sinkers.
"How far below the present level of the water is there rock in those
open places?" Cheyne asked, as he made the line fast round his waist.
"Two fathom," answered one of the men.
The men were by this time fairly taken aback and submissive.
Cheyne measured off three fathoms on the line from the place where the
line was made fast to his waist, and rapidly rolled on the line a
piece of sheet-lead weighing more than half a pound. This he tightened
on the line by biting it hard, ascertained that the lead would not
slip easily, walked over to the edge of the little quay, and, having
told the men who tended the line to pay out freely--in fact, never
check it--he dived into the turbulent sea.