We Two Part 28

And then breaking off into a sort of recitative.

"Which is exactly the opposite quarter to what Luke Raeburn's soul will go, I guess."

"Blowed if I wouldn't pull an oar to save a mate, if I were so mighty sure he was going to the devil!" observed a weather-beaten seaman, with gold earrings and a good deal of tattooing on his brawny arms.

"Would you now!" said the coast guardsman, with a superior and sardonic smile. "Well, in my 'umble opinion, drowning's too good for him."

With which humane utterance, the coast guardsman walked off, singing of Tom who

"Never from his word departed, Whose heart was kind and soft."

"Well, I, for one, will lend a hand to help them. Now then, mates! Which of you is going to help to cheat the devil of his due?" said the man with the earrings.

Three men proffered their services, but the old seaman with the telescope checked them.

"Bide a bit, mates, bide a bit; I'm not sure you've a call to go." He wiped the gla.s.ses of his telescope with a red handkerchief, and then looked out seaward once more.

In the meantime, while their fate was being discussed on the sh.o.r.e, Raeburn and Erica were face to face with death. They were a long way from land before the wind had sprung up so strongly. Raeburn, who in his young days had been at once the pride and anxiety of the fishermen round his Scottish home, and noted for his readiness and daring, had now lost the freshness of his experience, and had grown forgetful of weather tokens. The danger was upon them before he had even thought of it. The strong wind blowing upon them, the delicious salt freshness, even the brisk motion, had been such a relief to them after the pain and excitement of the morning. But all at once they began to realize that their peril was great. Their little boat tossed so fearfully that Erica had to cling to the seat for safety; one moment they were down in the hollow of a deep green wave, the next they would be tossed up upon its crest as though their boat had been a mere c.o.c.kle sh.e.l.l.

"I'm afraid we've made a mistake, Eric," said Raeburn. "I ought to have seen this storm coming up."

"What?" cried Erica, for the das.h.i.+ng of the waves made the end of the sentence inaudible.

He looked across the boat at her, and an almost paralyzing dread filled his heart. For himself he could be brave, for himself death had no terrors but for his child!

A horrible vision rose before him. He saw her lying stiff and cold, with glazed eyes and drenched hair. Was there to be a yet more terrible separation between them? Was death to s.n.a.t.c.h her from him? Ah, no that should never be! They would at least go down together.

The vision faded; he saw once more the fair, eager face, no longer pallid, but flushed with excitement, the brave eyes clear and bright, but somewhat anxious. The consciousness that everything depended on him helped him to rise above that overmastering horror. He was once more his strongest self.

The rudder had been left on the beach, and it was only possible to steer by the oars. He dismissed even the thought of Erica, and concentrated his whole being on the difficult task before him. So grand did he look in that tremendous endeavor that Erica almost forgot her anxiety; there was something so forceful in his whole aspect that she could not be afraid. Her heart beat quickly indeed, but the consciousness of danger was stimulating.

Yet the waves grew more and more furious, rolling, curling, das.h.i.+ng up in angry, white foam "raging horribly." At length came one which broke right over the little boat, blinding and drenching its occupants.

"Another like that will do for us," Said Raeburn, in a quiet voice.

The boat was half full of water. Erica began to bale out with her father's hat, and each knew from the other's face that their plight was hopeless.

Raeburn had faced death many times. He had faced it more than once on a sick bed, he had faced it surrounded by yelling and furious mobs, but he had never faced it side by side with his child. Again he looked at the angry gray-green waves, at the wreaths of curling white foam, again that awful vision rose before him, and, brave man as he was, he shuddered.

Life was sweet even though he was hara.s.sed, persecuted, libeled. Life was sweet even though his child had deserted his cause, even though she had "cheated herself into a belief." Life was infinitely worth living, mere existence an exquisite joy, blank nothingness a hideous alternative.

"Bale out!" he cried, despair in his eyes, but a curve of resoluteness about his lips.

A few more strokes warily pulled, another huge wave sweeping along, rearing itself up, das.h.i.+ng down upon them. The boat reeled and staggered. To struggle longer was useless. Raeburn threw his oars inboard, caught hold of Erica, and held her fast. When they could see once more, they found the boat quite three parts full.

"Child!" he said, "child!" But nothing more would come. For once in his life words failed him; the orator was speechless. Was it a minute or an eternity that he waited there through that awful pause waited with his arm round Erica, feeling the beating of her heart, the heart which must soon cease beating forever, feeling her warm breath on his cheek alas!

How few more breaths would she draw! How soon would the cold water grave close over all that he--

His thoughts were abruptly checked. That eternal minute of waiting was over. It was coming death was coming riding along with mocking scorn on the crest of a giant wave. Higher and higher rose the towering, sea-green wall, mockingly it rushed forward, remorselessly swooped down upon them! This time the boat was completely swamped.

"I will at least die fighting!" thought Raeburn, a despairing, defiant courage inspiring him with almost superhuman strength.

"Trust to me!" he cried. "Don't struggle!" And Erica who would naturally have fallen into that frantic and vain convulsion which seizes most people when they find themselves in peril of drowning, by a supreme effort of will made no struggle at all, but only clung to her father.

Raeburn was a very strong man, and an expert swimmer, but it was a fearful sea. They were dashed hither and thither, they were buffeted, and choked, and blinded, but never once did he lose his presence of mind. Every now and then he even shouted out a few words to Erica. How strange his voice sounded in that chaos, in that raging symphony of winds and waves.

"Tell me when you can't hold any longer," he cried.

"I can't leave go," returned Erica.

And even then, in that desperate minute, they both felt a momentary thrill of amus.e.m.e.nt. The fact was, that her effort of will had been so great when she had obeyed him, and clung with all her might to him, that now the muscles of her hands absolutely would not relax their hold.

It seemed endless! Over the cold green and white of the waves Raeburn seemed to see his whole life stretched out before him, in a series of vivid pictures. All the long struggles, all the desperate fights wreathed themselves out in visions round this supreme death struggle.

And always there was the consciousness that he was toiling for Erica's life, struggling, agonizing, straining every fiber of his being to save her.

But what was this paralyzing cold creeping over his limbs? What this pressure at his heart? This dimness of his eyes? Oh! Was his strength failing him? Was the last hope, indeed, gone? Panting, he struggled on.

"I will do thirty more strokes!" he said to himself. And he did them.

"I will do ten more!"

And he forced himself to keep on.

"Ten more!"

He was gasping now. Erica's weight seemed to be dragging him down, down, into nothingness.

Six strokes painfully made! Seven! After all nothingness would mean rest. Eight! No pain to either, since they were together. Nine! He should live on in the hearts of his people. Ten! Agony of failure! He was beaten at last!

What followed they neither of them knew, only there was a shout, an agony of sinking, a vision of a dark form and a something solid which they grasped convulsively.

When Erica came to herself they were by no means out of danger, but there was something between them and the angry sea. She was lying down at the bottom of a boat in close proximity to some silvery-skinned fishes, and her father was holding her hand.

Wildly they tossed for what seemed to her a very long time; but at length fresh voices were heard, the keel grated on the sh.o.r.e, she felt herself lifted up and carried on to the beach. Then, with an effort, she stood up once more, trembling and exhausted, but conscious that mere existence was rapture.

Raeburn paused to reward and thank the men who had rescued them in his most genial manner, and Erica's happiness would have been complete had not the coast guardsman stepped up in an insolent and officious way, and observed:

"It is a pity, Mr. Luke Raeburn, that you don't bring yourself to offer thanks to G.o.d almighty!"

"Sir," replied Raeburn, "when I ask your opinion of my personal and private matters, it will be fitting that you should speak not before!"

The man looked annihilated, and turned away.

Raeburn grasped the rough hands of his helpers and well-wishers, gave his arm to Erica, and led her up the steep beach.

Later on in the evening they sat over the fire, and talked over their adventure. June though it was, they had both been thoroughly chilled.

"What did you think of when we were in the water?' asked Erica.