It was a good thirty yards from where Richard Frayne dived in, and when
a strange bewildering sense of suffocation was beginning to make itself
his master. He had tried again and again to rise, but the water pressed
him down and forced him to the bottom. At last, with one desperate
kick, he drove himself upward and saw the daylight once again as he
struck out vigorously, following the natural instinct to reach the bank.
But as the water cleared from his eyes, his mental vision cleared as
well, and, looking sharply over his shoulder, he caught sight of the
white face once more, glistening on a level with the water not five
yards away, and a hand rose above the surface and fell with a splash.
Recollecting now why he had plunged in, Richard made a quick stroke or
two, turned on his side, and swam with all his strength after the
drowning boy, about whom the water was swirling round in giddy
whirlpools, each of which seemed to be animated by the desire to drag
him beneath.
The mill was already far behind, and they were gliding rapidly downward
and round one of the curves of the winding river, the stream bearing
them so closely in towards the left that Richard had but to raise a hand
to snatch at the boughs of a submerged tree and drag himself out to
temporary safety; and as in a misty way he realised this, but made no
effort to catch the bough, he saw the sheep whirled round and then shot
off almost at right angles from the tree towards the opposite bank,
while the boy's face had disappeared.
The next moment the fierce current caused by the flood striking upon the
clump of trees firmly rooted in the bank caught Richard Frayne in turn,
and he felt himself swept right off in the same direction, and so
swiftly that it was as if in a few minutes he would be swept high and
dry up among the bushes visible on the other side.
Nerved by this, he swam on vigorously in pursuit of the carcase of the
sheep, in the faint hope that the boy might be still retaining his hold;
but though he kept himself in the right direction and was gliding
rapidly on, he did not lessen the distance between him and the patch of
wool in the slightest degree. Once he fancied that he saw the surface
stir between them, as if a struggle was going on; but he could not be
sure, and then the distance increased, but only for a few moments.
Then, to his surprise, that distance was lessened; for the fierce stream
swirled round again as if rebounding from the riverside, and the current
set back to that from which he had come.
Not four yards between them now; and, making a few frantic efforts, the
lad forced himself through the water in his effort to lessen the
distance and grasp the sheep, when suddenly the surface was parted; a
bare arm and hand appeared clutching at the air, then another just level
with the surface, and before he could avoid it, he was clutched in the
death-grip of the drowning boy and borne under, the current seeming to
roll them over, down into the darkness of the thick water which roared
and thundered in his ears.
Richard's first impulse was to struggle free, his next to force himself
to the surface; but both efforts were in vain. He was as firmly bound
as if he had been chained, and a horrible feeling of despair attacked
him as he felt that he was losing consciousness fast, that all was over,
and the end at hand. Then, as his senses were leaving him, there was a
gleam of daylight for an instant as he and his companion were rolled
over by the current. The darkness deepened, and there was a violent
shock, the tearing and rending of boughs, and light once more.
For a few minutes Richard could do nothing but cling instinctively to
the twiggy bough up which he had struggled till his face was a little
above the surface, his hands a few inches higher still, and his body
dragged out level with the water; while it seemed to him that the
unfortunate boy he had tried to save was tugging violently at his waist
to drag him from his hold, bending and shaking the bough till it swayed
to and fro like a spring.
For some little time his clinging was instinctive, every fibre in his
body naturally resisting the savage jerks to tear him from his hold; but
by degrees he recovered sufficiently to realise his position, and his
heart gave a great leap as he found for certain that, though something
which felt like a ragged garment was wound about his legs, he was once
more free, and that his drowning companion's grasp had been torn away
when the furious current swept them into the tree.
Of its force he kept on gaining fresh consciousness as the tugging
continued and the tree yielded and sprung back, and with this
consciousness something of the horror of his position passed away. It
was the strong current he had to deal with alone.
And now, as he drew his breath freely, but one thought filled him--the
natural desire of self-preservation. What could he do? for it would be
impossible to hang on long like that.
He looked up stream, but he could see naught but water, and the flood
was out widely on both sides. But the regular bank of the river must be
beneath him, and the only chance seemed to be to climb up into the
ragged top of the willow to whose pendent boughs he clung: a poor kind
of refuge, but safety till the water sank.
The bough was of no great size, but about a couple of yards away there
was one far larger, and, waiting for a few minutes longer, till the
heavy beating of his heart subsided and he could breathe more easily, he
gradually lowered himself toward the greater bough by relinquishing his
hold upon its fellow to which he clung.
It was a horrible sensation, though, for it seemed to give the water
greater power to drag and snatch at him, and for some little time he
dared not quit his hold. But at last he ventured with one hand, got a
firm grip of a moderate bough, and before he could loosen his grasp with
the other he felt a violent shock: it was torn away, and he was swept
over the submerged twigs, having hard work to get a fresh hold.
Then the water passed over him, for quite a wave had descended the river
at that moment, whose impetus, and the jerk given to the tree, was too
much for its stability. Already undermined by the furious rush of the
flood, that new leverage at the end of the longest bough was enough, and
its top came slowly down overhead, while the bough to which the lad
clung slowly sank.
Once more the instinct of self-preservation helped, and, quitting his
hold, he allowed himself to be carried downward by the current as the
top boughs splashed up the water not a yard behind.
How long his new struggle lasted he could not tell; all he knew was that
he was being borne along the furious river at racing speed, having hard
work to keep his head above water and avoid the various objects which
cumbered the stream. But he swam bravely from time to time, gazing
wildly at the trees he passed standing deeply in the tide as he was
borne from side to side, till at last, with his senses beginning to
fail, and the water rising higher and higher above his chin, a dim
sensation of its being time to relax his efforts dawned upon him, in
company with a strange drowsiness, just as he felt a heavy, sickening
shock, which had the effect of making coruscations of light flash before
his eyes; then he flung out his arms wildly, roused to renewed action
for a few moments by the blow, and lastly all was blank.