THE ADVENTURE AT THE STACK
“Ten cables from where green meadows
And quiet homes could be seen,
No greater space
From peril to peace,
But the savage sea between!”--EDWIN ARNOLD.
The Easter holidays at Roslyn lasted about ten days, and as most of the
boys came from a distance, they usually spent them at school. Many of
the usual rules were suspended during this time, and the boys were
supplied every day with pocket-money; consequently the Easter holidays
passed very pleasantly, and there was plenty of fun.
It was the great time for excursions all over the island, and the boys
would often be out the whole day long among the hills, or about the
coast. Eric enjoyed the time particularly, and was in great request
among all the boys. He was now more gay and popular than ever, and felt
as if nothing were wanting to his happiness. But this brilliant
prosperity was not good for him, and he felt continually that he cared
far less for the reproaches of conscience than he had done in the hours
of his trial; sought far less for help from God than he had done when he
was lonely and neglected.
He always knew that his great safeguard was the affection of Russell.
For Edwin’s sake, and for shame at the thought of Edwin’s disapproval,
he abstained from many things into which he would otherwise have
insensibly glided in conformation to the general looseness of the school
morality. But Russell’s influence worked on him powerfully, and tended
to counteract a multitude of temptations.
Among other dangerous lessons, Upton had taught Eric to smoke; and he
was now one of those who often spent a part of his holidays in lurking
about with pipes in their mouths at places where they were unlikely to
be disturbed, instead of joining in some hearty and healthy game. When
he began to “learn” smoking, he found it anything but pleasant; but a
little practice had made him an adept, and he found a certain amount of
enjoyable excitement in finding out cozy places by the river, where he
and Upton might go and lounge for an hour to enjoy the forbidden luxury.
In reality he, like most boys, detested the habit; but it seemed a fine
thing to do, and to some, at any rate, it was a refuge from vacuity.
Besides, they had a confused notion that there was something “manly” in
it, and it derived an additional zest from the stringency of the rules
adopted to put it down. So a number of the boys smoked, and some few of
them to such excess as to get them into great mischief, and form a habit
which they could never afterwards abandon.
One morning of the Easter holidays, Eric, Montagu, and Russell started
for an excursion down the coast to Rilby Head. As they passed through
Ellan, Eric was deputed to go and buy Easter eggs and other provisions,
as they did not mean to be back for dinner. In about ten minutes he
caught up the other two, just as they were getting out of the town.
“What an age you’ve been buying a few Easter eggs,” said Russell,
laughing; “have you been waiting till the hens laid?”
“No; they are not the _only_ things I’ve got.”
“Well, but you might have got all the grub at the same shop.”
“Ay; but I’ve procured a more refined article. Guess what it is?”
The two boys didn’t guess, and Eric said, to enlighten them, “Will you
have a whiff, Monty?”
“A whiff! Oh! I see you’ve been wasting your tin on cigars--_alias_,
rolled cabbage-leaves. Oh fumose puer!”
“Well, will you have one?”
“If you like,” said Montagu, wavering; “but I don’t much care to smoke.”
“Well, _I_ shall, at any rate,” said Eric, keeping off the wind with his
cap, as he lighted a cigar, and began to puff.
They strolled on in silence; the smoking didn’t promote conversation,
and Russell thought he had never seen his friend look so ridiculous, and
entirely unlike himself, as he did while strutting along with the weed
in his mouth. The fact was, Eric didn’t guess how much he was hurting
Edwin’s feelings, and he was smoking more to “make things look like the
holidays,” by a little bravado, than anything else. But suddenly he
caught the expression of Russell’s face, and instantly said--
“O, I forgot, Edwin; I know you don’t like smoking;” and he instantly
flung the cigar over the hedge, being really rather glad to get rid of
it. With the cigar, he seemed to have flung away the affected manner he
displayed just before, and the spirits of all three rose at once.
“It isn’t that I don’t _like_ smoking only, Eric, but I think it
wrong--for _us_ I mean.”
“O, my dear fellow! surely there can’t be any harm in it. Why everybody
smokes.”
“It may be all very well for men, although I’m not so sure of that. But,
at any rate, it’s wrong and ridiculous in boys. You know yourself what
harm it does in every way.”
“O, it’s a mere school rule against it. How can it be wrong? Why, I even
know clergymen who smoke.”
Montagu laughed. “Well, clergymen ain’t immaculate,” said he; “but I
never met a man yet who didn’t tell you that he was _sorry_ he’d
acquired the habit.”
“I’m sure you won’t thank that rascally cousin of mine for having taught
you,” said Russell; “but seriously, isn’t it a very moping way of
spending the afternoon, to go and lie down behind some hay-stack, or in
some frowsy tumble-down barn, as you smokers do, instead of playing
racquets or football?”
“O, it’s pleasant enough sometimes,” said Eric, speaking rather against
his own convictions.
“As for me, I’ve nearly left it off,” said Montagu, “and I think Rose
convinced me that it was a mistake. Not that he knows that I ever did
smoke; I should be precious sorry if he did, for I know how he despises
it in boys. Were you in school the other day when he caught Pietrie and
Brooking?”
“No.”
“Well, when Brooking went up to have his exercise corrected, Rose smelt
that he had been smoking, and charged him with it. Brooking stoutly
denied it, but after he had told the most robust lies, Rose made him
empty his pockets, and there, sure enough, were a pipe and a cigar-case
half full! You _should_ have heard how Rose thundered and lightened at
him for his lying, and then sent him to the Doctor. I never saw him so
terrific before.”
“You don’t mean to say you were convinced it was wrong because Brooking
was caught, and told lies--do you? _Non sequitur_.”
“Stop--not so fast.” Very soon after Rose twigged Pietrie, who at once
confessed, and was caned. I happened to be in the library when Rose sent
for him, and Pietrie said mildly that “he didn’t see the harm of it.”
Rose smiled in his kind way, and said, “Don’t see the _harm_ of it! Do
you see any good in it?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, isn’t it forbidden?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And doesn’t it waste your money?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And tempt you to break rules, and tell lies to screen yourself?”
“Yes, sir,” said Pietrie, putting his tail between his legs.
“And don’t your parents disapprove it? And doesn’t it throw you among
some of the worst boys, and get you into great troubles? Silly child,”
he said, pulling Pietrie’s ear (as he sometimes does, you know), “don’t
talk nonsense; and remember next time you’re caught I shall have you
punished.” So off went Pietrie, [Greek: achreian idon] as our friend
Homer says. And your humble servant was convinced.”
“Well, well,” said Eric laughing, “I suppose you’re right. At any rate,
I give in. Two to one ain’t fair; [Greek: ards duo o Aerachlaes], since
you’re in a quoting humor.”
Talking in this way they got to Rilby Head, where they found plenty to
amuse them. It was a splendid headland, rising bluff four hundred feet
out of the sea, and presenting magnificent reaches of rock scenery on
all sides. The boys lay on the turf at the summit, and flung innocuous
stones at the sea-gulls as they sailed far below them over the water,
and every now and then pounced at some stray fish that came to the
surface; or they watched the stately barks as they sailed by on the
horizon, wondering at their cargo and destination; or chaffed the
fishermen, whose boats heaved on the waves at the foot of the
promontory. When they were rested, they visited a copper-mine by the
side of the head, and filled their pockets with bits of bright quartz or
red shining spar, which they found in plenty among the rocks.
In the afternoon they strolled towards home, determining to stop a
little at the Stack on their way. The Stack formed one of the
extremities of Ellan Bay, and was a huge mass of isolated schist,
accessible at low water, but entirely surrounded at high tide. It was a
very favorite resort of Eric’s, as the coast all about it was bold and
romantic; and he often went there with Russell on a Sunday evening to
watch the long line of golden radiance slanting to them over the water
from the setting sun--a sight which they often agreed to consider one
of the most peaceful and mysteriously beautiful in nature.
They reached the Stack, and began to climb to its summit. The sun was
just preparing to set, and the west was gorgeous with red and gold.
“We shan’t see the line on the waters this evening,” said Eric; “there’s
too much of a breeze. But look, what a glorious sunset!”
“Yes; it’ll be stormy tomorrow,” answered Russell, “but come along,
let’s get to the top; the wind’s rising, and the waves will be
rather grand.”
“Ay, we’ll sit and watch them; and let’s finish our grub; I’ve got
several eggs left, and I want to get them out of my pocket.”
They devoured the eggs, and then stood enjoying the sight of the waves,
which sometimes climbed up the rock almost to their feet, and then fell
back, hissing and discomfited. Suddenly they remembered that it was
getting late, and that they ought to get home for tea at seven.
“Hallo!” said Russell, looking at his watch, “it’s half-past six. We
must cut back as hard as we can. By the bye, I hope the tide hasn’t been
coming in all this time.”
“Good God!” said Montagu, with a violent start, “I’m afraid it has,
though! What asses we have been, with our waves and sunsets. Let’s set
off as hard as we can pelt.”
Immediately they scrambled, by the aid of hands and knees, down the
Stack, and made their way for the belt of rock which joined it to the
mainland; but, to their horror, they at once saw that the tide had come
in, and that a narrow gulf of sea already divided them from the shore.
“There’s only one way for it,” said Eric; “if we’re plucky we can jump
that; but we musn’t wait till it gets worse. A good jump will take us
_nearly_ to the other side--far enough, at any rate, to let us flounder
across somehow.”
As fast as they could they hurried along down to the place where the
momentarily increasing zone of water seemed as yet to be narrowest; and
where the rocks on the other side were lower than those on which they
stood. Their situation was by no means pleasant. The wind had been
rising more and more, and the waves dashed into this little channel with
such violence, that to swim it would have been a most hazardous
experiment, particularly as they could not dive in from the ledge on
which they stood, from their ignorance of the depth of water.
Eric’s courage supported the other two. “There’s no good _thinking_
about it,” said he, “jump we _must_; the sooner the better. We can but
be a little hurt at the worst. Here, I’ll set the example.”
He drew back a step or two, and sprang out with all his force. He was a
practised and agile jumper, and, to their great relief, he alighted near
the water’s edge, on the other side, where, after slipping once or twice
on the wet and seaweed-covered rocks, he effected a safe landing, with
no worse harm than a wetting up to the knees.
“Now then, you too,” he shouted; “no time to lose.”
“Will you jump first, Monty?” said Russell; “both of you are better
jumpers than I, and to tell the truth I’m rather afraid.”
“Then I won’t leave you,” said Montagu; “we’ll both stay here.”
“And perhaps be drowned or starved for our pains No, Monty, _you_ can
clear it, I’ve no doubt.”
“Couldn’t we try to swim it together, Edwin?”
“Madness! look there.” And as he spoke, a huge furious wave swept down
the whole length of the gulf by which they stood, roaring and surging
along till the whole water seethed, and tearing the seaweeds from their
roots in the rock.
“Now’s your time,” shouted Eric again. “What _are_ you waiting for? For
God’s sake, jump before another wave comes.”
“Monty, you _must_ jump now,” said Russell, “if only to help me when I
try.”
Montagu went back as far as he could, which was only a few steps, and
leapt wildly forward. He lighted into deep water, nearly up to his neck,
and at first tried in vain to secure a footing on the sharp slippery
schist; but he stumbled forwards vigorously, and in half a minute, Eric
leaning out as far as he could, caught his hand, and just pulled him to
the other side in time to escape another rush of tumultuous and
angry foam.
“Now, Edwin,” they both shouted, “it’ll be too late in another minute.
Jump for your life.”
Russell stood on the rock pale and irresolute. Once or twice he prepared
to spring, and stopped from fear at the critical instant. In truth, the
leap was now most formidable; to clear it was hopeless; and the fury of
the rock-tormented waves rendered the prospect of a swim on the other
side terrible to contemplate. Once in the grasp of one of those billows,
even a strong man must have been carried out of the narrow channel, and
hurled against the towering sweep of rocks which lay beyond it.
“Oh Edwin, Edwin--dear Edwin--_do_ jump,” cried Eric with passionate
excitement. “We will rush in for you.”
Russell now seemed to have determined on running the risk; he stepped
back, ran to the edge, missed his footing, and with a sharp cry of pain,
fell heavily forward into the water. For an instant, Eric and Montagu
stood breathless,--but the next instant, they saw Russell’s head emerge,
and then another wave foaming madly by, made them run backwards for
their lives, and hid him from their view. When it had passed, they saw
him clinging with both hands, in the desperate instinct of
self-preservation, to a projecting bit of rock, by the aid of which he
gradually drew himself out of the water, and grasping at crevices or
bits of seaweed, slowly and painfully reached the ledge on which they
had stood before they took the leap. He presented a pitiable spectacle;
his face, pale as death, was dabbled with blood; his head drooped on his
breast; his clothes were torn, and streamed with the salt water; his cap
was gone, and the wet hair, which he seemed too exhausted to push aside,
hung over his forehead and eyes. He was evidently dizzy, and in pain;
and they noticed that he only seemed to use one foot.
While he was regaining the ledge, neither of the boys spoke, lest their
voices should startle him, and make him fall; but now, they both cried
out, “Are you hurt, Edwin?”
He did not answer, but supported his pale face on one hand, while he put
the other to his head, from which the blood was flowing fast.
“O Edwin, for the love of God, try once more,” said Montagu; “you will
die if you spend the night on that rock.”
They could not catch the reply, and called again. The wind and waves
were both rising fast, and it was only by listening intently, that they
caught the faint words, “I can’t, my leg is hurt.” Besides, they both
saw that a jump was no longer possible; the channel was more than double
the width which it had been when Eric leaped, and from the rapid ascent
of rocks on both sides, it was now far out of depth.
“O God, what can we do,” said Montagu, bursting into tears. “We can
never save him; and all but the very top of the Stack is covered at
high tide.”
Eric had not lost his presence of mind. “Cheer up, Edwin,” he shouted;
“I _will_ get back to you somehow. If I fail, crawl up to the
top again.”
Again the wind carried away the reply, and Russell had sunk back on the
rock.
“Monty,” said Eric, “just watch for a minute or two. When I have got
across, run to Ellan as hard as you can tear, and tell them that we are
cut off by the tide on the Stack. They’ll bring round the life-boat.
It’s our only chance.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Montagu, terrified. “Why, Eric, it’s
death to attempt swimming that. Heavens!” And he drew Eric back hastily,
as another vast swell of water came rolling along, shaking its white
curled mane, like a sea-monster bent on destruction.
“Monty, it’s no use,” said Eric hastily, tearing off his jacket and
waistcoat; “I’m not going to let Russell die on that ledge of rock. I
shall try to reach him, whatever happens to me. Here; I want to keep
these things dry. Be on the look out; if I get across, fling them over
to me if you can, and then do as I told you.”
He turned round; the wave had just spent its fury, and knowing that his
only chance was to swim over before another came, he plunged in, and
struck out like a man. He was a strong and expert swimmer, and as yet
the channel was not more than a dozen yards across. He dashed over with
the speed and strength of despair, and had just time to clutch the rocks
on the other side before the next mighty swirl of the tide swept up in
its white and tormented course. In another minute he was on the ledge by
Russell’s side.
He took him tenderly in his arms, and called to Montagu for the dry
clothes. Montagu tied them skilfully with his neck-handkerchief round a
fragment of rock, adding his own jacket to the bundle, and then flung it
over. Eric wrapped up his friend in the clothes, and once more shouted
to Montagu to go on his errand. For a short time the boy lingered,
reluctant to leave them, and then started off at the run. Looking back
after a few minutes, he caught, through the gathering dusk, his last
glimpse of the friends in their perilous situation. Eric was seated
supporting Russell across his knees; when he saw Montagu turn he waved
his cap over his head as a signal of encouragement, and then began to
carry Edwin higher up the rock for safety. It soon grew too dark to
distinguish them, and Montagu at full speed flew to Ellan, which was a
mile off. When he got to the harbor he told some sailors of the danger
in which his friends were, and then ran on to the school. It was now
eight o’clock, and quite dark. Tea was over, and lock-up time long past,
when he stood excited, breathless, and without his jacket, at Dr.
Rowlands’ door.
“Good gracious! Master Montagu,” said the servant; “what’s the matter;
have you been robbed?”
He pushed the girl aside, and ran straight to Dr. Rowlands’ study. “O
sir!” he exclaimed, bursting in, “Williams and Russell are on the Stack,
cut off by the tide.”
Dr. Rowlands started up hastily. “What! on this stormy night? Have you
raised the alarm?”
“I told the life-boat people, sir, and then ran on.”
“I will set off myself at once,” said the Doctor, seizing his hat. “But,
my poor boy, how pale and ill you look, and you are wet through too. You
had better change your clothes at once, or go to bed.”
“O no, sir,” said Montagu, pleadingly; “do take me with you.”
“Very well; but you must change first, or you may suffer in consequence.
Make haste, and directly you are dressed, a cup of tea shall be ready
for you down here, and we will start.”
Montagu was off in an instant, and only stopped on his way to tell
Duncan and the others of the danger which threatened their companions.
The absence of the three boys from tea and lock-up had already excited
general surmise, and Montagu’s appearance, jacketless and wet, at the
door of the boarders’ room, at once attracted a group round him. He
rapidly told them how things stood, and, hastening off, left them nearly
as much agitated as himself. In a very short time he presented himself
again before Dr. Rowlands, and when he had swallowed with difficulty the
cup of tea, they sallied out.
It was pitch dark, and only one or two stars were seen at intervals
struggling through the ragged masses of cloud. The wind howled in fitful
gusts, and as their road led by the sea-side, Montagu shuddered to hear
how rough and turbulent the sea was, even on the sands. He stumbled once
or twice, and then the Doctor kindly drew his trembling arm through his
own, and made him describe the whole occurrence, while the servant went
on in front with the lantern. When Montagu told how Williams had braved
the danger of reaching his friend at the risk of his life, Dr. Rowlands’
admiration was unbounded. “Noble boy,” he exclaimed, with enthusiasm; “I
shall find it hard to believe any evil of him after this.”
They reached Ellan, and went to the boat-house.
“Have you put out the life-boat?” said Dr. Rowlands anxiously.
“Ill luck, sir,” said one of the sailors, touching his cap; “the
life-boat went to a wreck at Port Vash two days ago, and she hasn’t been
brought round again yet.”
“Indeed! but I do trust you have sent out another boat to try and save
those poor boys.”
“We’ve been trying, sir, and a boat has just managed to start; but in a
sea like that it’s very dangerous, and it’s so dark and gusty that I
doubt it’s no use, so I expect they’ll put back.”
The Doctor sighed deeply. “Don’t alarm any other people,” he said; “it
will merely raise a crowd to no purpose. Here, George,” he continued to
the servant, “give me the lantern; I will go with this boy to the Stack;
you follow us with ropes, and order a carriage from the King’s Head.
Take care to bring anything with you that seems likely to be useful.”
Montagu and Dr. Rowlands again started, and with difficulty made their
way through the storm to the shore opposite the Stack. Here they raised
the lantern and shouted; but the wind was now screaming with such
violence that they were not sure that they heard any answering shout.
Their eyes, accustomed to the darkness, could just make out the huge
black outline of the Stack rising from the yeast of boiling waves, and
enveloped every moment in blinding sheets of spray. On the top of it
Montagu half thought that he saw something, but he was not sure.
“Thank God, there is yet hope,” said the Doctor, with difficulty making
his young companion catch his words amid the uproar of the elements; “if
they can but keep warm in their wet clothes, we may perhaps rescue them
before morning.”
Again he shouted to cheer them with his strong voice, and Montagu joined
his clear ringing tones to the shout. This time they fancied that in one
of the pauses of the wind they heard a faint cheer returned, was sound
more welcome, and as they paced up and down they shouted at intervals,
and held up the lantern, to show the boys that friends and help
were near.
Eric heard them. When Montagu left, he had carried Russell to the
highest point of the rock, and there, with gentle hands and soothing
words, made him as comfortable as he could. He wrapped him in every
piece of dry clothing he could find, and held him in his arms, heedless
of the blood which covered him. Very faintly Russell thanked him, and
pressed his hand; but he moaned in pain continually, and at last
fainted away.
Meanwhile the wind rose higher, and the tide gained on the rocks, and
the sacred darkness came down. At first Eric could think of nothing but
storm and sea. Cold, and cruel, and remorseless, the sea beat up,
drenching them to the skin continually with, its clammy spray; and the
storm shrieked round them pitilessly, and flung about the wet hair on
Eric’s bare head, and forced him to plant himself firmly, lest the rage
of the gusts should hurl them from their narrow resting-place. The
darkness made everything more fearful, for his eyes could distinguish
nothing but the gulfs of black water glistening here and there with
hissing foam, and he shuddered as his ears caught the unearthly noises
that came to him in the mingled scream of weltering tempest and plangent
wave. It was fearful to be isolated on the black rent rock, and see the
waves gaining on them higher, higher, higher, every moment and he was in
ceaseless terror lest they should be swept away by the violence of the
breakers. “At least,” thought he, as he looked down and saw that the
ledge on which they had been standing had long been covered with deep
and agitated waves, “at least I have saved Edwin’s life.” And he bravely
made up his mind to keep up heart and hope, and weather the comfortless
night with Russell in his arms.
And then his thoughts turned to Russell, who was still unconscious; and
stooping down he kissed fondly the pale white forehead of his friend. He
felt _then_, how deeply he loved him, how much he owed him; and no
mother could have nursed a child more tenderly than he did the fainting
boy. Russell’s head rested on his breast, and the soft hair, tangled
with welling blood, stained his clothes. Eric feared that he would die,
his fainting-fit continued so long, and from the helpless way in which
one of his legs trailed on the ground he felt sure that he had received
some dangerous hurt.
At last Russell stirred and groaned. “Where am I?” he said, and half
opened his eyes; he started up frightened, and fell-back heavily. He saw
only the darkness; felt only the fierce wind and salt mist; heard only
the relentless yell of the blast. Memory had no time to wake, and he
screamed and fainted once more.
Poor Eric knew not what to do but to shelter him to the best of his
power, and when he showed any signs of consciousness again, he bent over
him, and said, “Don’t you remember, Edwin? We’re quite safe. I’m with
you, and Monty’s gone for help.”
“Oh! I daren’t jump,” sobbed Russell; “oh mother, I shall be drowned.
Save me! save me! I’m so glad they’re safe, mother; but my leg hurts
so.” And he moaned again. He was delirious.
“How cold it is, and wet too! where’s Eric? are we bathing? run along,
we shall be late. But stop, you’re smoking. Dear Eric, don’t smoke.
Poor fellow, I’m afraid he’s getting spoilt, and learning bad ways. Oh
save him.” And as he wandered on, he repeated a prayer for Eric, which
evidently had been often on his lips.
Eric was touched to the heart’s core, and in one rapid lightning-like
glance, his memory revealed to him the faultful past, in all its
sorrowfulness. And _he_, too, prayed wildly for help both for soul and
body. Alone on the crag, with the sea tumbling and plashing round them,
growing and gaining so much on their place of refuge, that his terror
began to summon up the image of certain death; alone, wet, hungry, and
exhausted, with the wounded and delirious boy, whose life depended on
his courage, he prayed as he had never prayed before, and seemed to grow
calmer by his prayer, and to feel God nearer him than ever he had done
in the green cricket-field, or the safe dormitories of Roslyn school.
A shout startled him. Lights on the water heaved up and down, now
disappearing, and now lifted high, and at intervals there came the sound
of voices. Thank God! help was near; they were coming in a boat to
save them.
But the lights grew more distant; he saw then disappearing towards the
harbor. Yes! it was of no use; no boat could live in the surf at the
foot of the Stack cliffs, and the sailors had given it up in despair.
His heart sank again, all the more for the glimpse of hope, and his
strength began to give way. Russell’s delirium continued, and he grew
too frightened even to pray.
A light from the land. The sound of shouts--yes, he could be sure of
it; it was Dr. Rowlands’ voice and Montagu’s. He got convinced of this,
and summoned all his strength to shout in return. The light kept moving
up and down on the shore, not a hundred yards off. His fear vanished;
they were no longer alone. The first moment that the tide suffered any
one to reach them they would be rescued. His mind grew calm again, and
he determined to hold up for Russell’s sake until help should come; and
every now and then, to make it feel less lonely, he answered the shouts
which came from the friendly voices in the fitful pauses of the storm.
But Dr. Rowlands and Montagu paced up and down, and the master soothed
the boy’s fears, and talked to him so kindly, so gently, that Montagu
began to wonder if this really could be the awful head-master, whose
warm strong hand he was grasping, and who was comforting him as a father
might. What a depth of genuine human kindness that stern exterior
concealed! And every now and then, when the storm blew loudest, the
Doctor would stand still for a moment, and offer up a short intense
prayer, or ejaculation, that help and safety might come to his beloved
charge in their exposure and peril.
Six or seven hours passed away; at last the wind began to sink, and the
sea to be less violent. The tide was on the turn. The carriage drove up
with, more men and lights, and the thoughtful servant brought with him
the school surgeon, Dr. Underhay. Long and anxiously did they watch the
ebbing tide, and when it had gone out sufficiently to allow of two
stout planks being laid across the channel, an active sailor ventured
over with a light, and in a few moments stood by Eric’s side. Eric saw
him coming, but was too weak and numb to move; and when the sailor
lifted up the unconscious Russell from his knees, Eric was too much
exhausted even to speak. The man returned for him, and lifting him on
his back crossed the plank once more in safety, and carried them both to
the carriage, where Dr. Underhay had taken care to have everything
likely to revive and sustain them. They were driven rapidly to the
school, and the Doctor raised to God tearful eyes of gratitude as the
boys were taken to the rooms prepared for them. Mrs. Rowlands was
anxiously awaiting their arrival, and the noise of wheels was the signal
for twenty heads to be put through the dormitory windows, with many an
anxious inquiry, “Are they safe?”
“Yes, thank God!” called Dr. Rowlands; “so now, boys, shut the windows,
and get to sleep.”
Russell was carefully undressed, and put to bed in the Doctor’s own
house, and the wound in his head was dressed. Eric and Montagu had beds
provided them in another room by themselves, away from the dormitory:
the room was bright and cheerful, with a blazing fire, and looked like
home and when the two boys had drank some warm wine, and cried for
weariness and joy, they sank to sleep after their dangers and fatigues,
and slept the deep, calm, dreamless sleep of tired children.
So ended the perilous adventure of that eventful night of the Easter
holidays.