DOROTHY TO THE RESCUE
The girls of the Compton School bathed from the strip of beach just beyond the steps and in front of the lock-house. It was a steep and not very safe bit of shore. But all the girls could swim fairly well, while some of them were really expert.
The Fourth Form girls had two mistresses with them, and they were all in the water, splashing about with tremendous zest, when the Sixth, who had come to bathe, arrived on the scene.
Coming up the steps from the lock-house, they reached the Promenade, and were just going to spring down the wall to reach the tents when a shrill cry rang out that Cissie Wray was drowning.
There was instant commotion. Some of the girls who were in the water came hurrying out, scrambling up the beach in a panic; others launched themselves into deep water with a reckless disregard for their own safety, and swam out to help in the rescue.
Dorothy, standing on the edge of the wall, and looking out over the water, saw an arm shoot up, then disappear. She saw Miss Mordaunt, the games-mistress, and Miss Ball, the mistress of the Fourth, making wild efforts to reach the place where Cissie Wray was in trouble; she saw the girls who were in the water crowding together, getting in the way of the rescuers, endangering themselves, and adding to the confusion. Acting on impulse, she sprang from the wall, then running down the steep beach, and tearing off her skirt as she ran, she kicked off her shoes, and running still, took to the water as lightly as a duck, going forward with long, even strokes that carried her swiftly on.
“Go back! go back!” she shouted to the small girls who were bobbing up and down in the water, anxious to help. “Get out of the deep as quickly as you can, and get ready to make a chain to pull us up.”
Chain-making for rescue was one of the most usual swimming exercises. Sometimes half the chain would be straggling up the beach, and the other half in deep water; then the last one of the chain would drop limp and passive, while the chain struggled shorewards with the helpless one in tow.
Dorothy’s quick wit had seen that the great hope of rescue lay in the chain. The tide was running in fast, and the beach at this point rose so steeply that a swimmer with a burden was most fearfully handicapped. Oh! a rescue in such a sea would be a task of magnitude, and she suddenly realized that Cissie must have been very far out. Miss Ball was nearest to the place where Dorothy had seen the arm flung up. She was swimming with desperate haste, but she was not saving her strength in the least possible way. She was not a strong swimmer, either, and even if she reached the little girl, she would not be able to do more than hold her up in the water.
Miss Mordaunt had been right away at the outer edge of the group. She had been helping the younger ones to get more confidence in their own powers; she had to see these headed for safety before she could come to the help of Miss Ball and Cissie, so she was behind Dorothy.
Miss Ball shot forward, gripped hold of Cissie by the bathing-dress, and was holding her fast, when poor, frantic Cissie, with a thin shriek of pure panic, seized Miss Ball in a frenzied grip, clinging with all her might, and choking the Fourth Form mistress by the tightness of her clutch.
Dorothy made a wild effort and shot forward. Would she ever cover the distance that separated her from the two who were in such dire peril? She almost reached them—she shot out an arm to grip Miss Ball, who was nearest; a great wave heaved up and swept the Fourth Form mistress farther to the left. Dorothy put out another spurt; she flung every ounce of strength she had into the effort; she summoned all her will power to her aid, and suddenly, just as she was feeling that she simply could not do any more, Cissie Wray was flung into reach of her groping fingers, and she had the little girl fast.
Cissie was still clinging with might and main to the neck of Miss Ball, who, strangled and helpless in that suffocating grip, was slowly beginning to sink.
Treading water to keep herself afloat, Dorothy hung on to Cissie’s bathing-dress with one hand, and with the other she wrenched the little girl’s hand from its frantic clasp of Miss Ball’s throat. Quite well she realized her own danger in doing this, but she trusted to her swiftness of movement to be able to elude Cissie’s clutching fingers. She had seized Cissie well by the back of the bathing-dress, and was keeping her at arm’s length. But the trouble now was with Miss Ball, who, having been so badly choked, could not regain the strength that had been squeezed out of her, and was being sucked down into the water.
Dorothy made a clutch at her, and catching her by the arm, held her fast. “Buck up!” she said sharply. “Buck up and strike out, or we’ll all be drowned. Keep afloat a minute; help is coming.”
Miss Ball had done her bit, and there was no more do in her. She flung out her hands with a feeble and spasmodic effort, which amounted to nothing as far as helping herself went.
Dorothy was in despair. Her own strength was waning, her heart was beating in a choking fashion, there was a loud singing in her ears, and her arms felt as if they were being dragged out of their sockets. She could not stand the strain another moment. Where was Miss Mordaunt, and why did she not come to the rescue?
Miss Ball was sinking—oh! she was surely sinking. Dorothy felt she could not hold the poor thing up for another second, for she was having to keep Cissie afloat too, and Cissie was squirming and kicking in the most dangerous fashion.
“Courage, Dorothy, I am here!” panted a voice close to her, and realizing that Miss Mordaunt was close at hand, Dorothy’s courage began instantly to revive.
Miss Mordaunt laid hold of Miss Ball, who was by this time limp and unconscious.
“Can you hold Cissie until I come?” panted Miss Mordaunt, who was moving rapidly to get the helpless Miss Ball ashore.
“I can manage,” Dorothy called out cheerily. She put every bit of courage she possessed into her voice so that Miss Mordaunt might be helped. There is nothing like courage to inspire courage, and although the others were doubtless swimming out to their help, there was a good distance to cover, and it was a very choppy sea.
Dorothy shifted Cissie, because the little girl’s face was so low down that it kept getting under water.
Cissie, feeling the movement, and believing that her rescuer was letting her go, made a sudden, despairing effort, and gripped Dorothy round the shoulders. Lucky for Dorothy it was that the choking grip did not get her round the throat. It was bad enough as it was, for she could not move her arms, and was dependent on her feet for keeping herself and Cissie from drifting farther out to sea.
“Cissie, let go; leave yourself to me—I will save you!” she panted. But Canute ordering the waves back from the shore was not more helpless in altering their course than she was in making any impression on poor, frantic Cissie. The child clung like a limpet to a rock; Dorothy had never felt anything like the clutch of those thin arms.
She could not hold up against it. She was being dragged down in spite of her struggles. Oh! it was awful, awful. Scenes from her past flashed into the mind of Dorothy as she felt herself slipping, slipping, and felt the thin arms about her neck clutching tighter and tighter.
Then suddenly a great peace stole into her heart; if she had to die in such a way, at least it would solve the problem of to-morrow. If she were not there to win the Lamb Bursary, the governors would not have to be told of that ugly bit in her father’s past which would shut her out from taking the Bursary even after she had won it. Supposing that she did not win it, and it came to Rhoda, if she were dead there would be no one to remind Rhoda that she might not have the Bursary because she was not fit to hold it. Perhaps her death was the best way out for them all. Anyhow, she had no longer strength to struggle—no more power to hold out against the cramping clutch of Cissie’s arms; and it was a relief, when one was so weary, to drop into peace which was so profound.