V.
Exploring a desert Island.—Tumbling over a Cliff.—Peril of Bruce.—A mad Row over the waves.—Adrift in the Fog.
ON reaching the summit, the triumphant, climbers gave vent to their feelings in loud shouts. Looking out from their lofty perch, a magnificent scene unfolded itself before their eyes. There was the broad expanse of water. In the distance, a kind of haze rested over the hills, which, to experienced eyes, would have been significant of an approaching fog, but it gave no such warning to them. There rose Blomidon, always the supreme monarch of the scene. Around them were clustered the other islands; and here, directly opposite them, and beneath them, was Pinnacle Island, with its cloud of screaming gulls. Yet it was not to these, or to any one of these, that the eyes of the boys were most attracted. There, beneath them, lay another object, which had for them a greater charm. It was the Antelope. There she swung at her anchor, while ever and anon the passing breeze, as it came by, swept out the folds of the black flag, from which that benevolent face, which it bore, seemed to look up at them with a grin of welcome, encouragement, and sympathy.
It was another proud moment for the “B. O. W. C.”
After feasting their eyes on this fascinating flag, they all started off to explore the island. There was not much to explore; but what there was, proved difficult. The trees grew densely, interlacing their branches, while beneath them was a thick growth of underbrush and ferns. Fallen trunks, some fresh fallen, others half rotted, intercepted them at every step; and they had to climb over them or crawl under. Progress was extremely difficult, and a good half hour was occupied in going from one end’ of the island to the other. Here they rested for a while, looking from the edge of the cliff down the precipice-into the sea. Then they began to return, keeping along the edge of the island, where the trees and the underbrush were not so dense. Beneath they could see Messrs. Simmons and Long diligently hammering away. Scattered along the beach were the other boys. In the air, abreast of them, the sea-gulls darted about with hoarse screams. One huge fellow flew straight toward them, without seeing them, carrying a fish in his claws. The sight of them so frightened him, that he dropped the fish, and flew off with a harsh shriek. On picking up the fish, they found it yet possessed of much vigor. Bruce took it and hurled it far out, and watched it to see where it would fall. It struck its own native element, into which it sank; and the boys generously hoped that it was able to resume its life, which had been interrupted by so wonderful a transition into the world of air.
So they wandered along, finding their way here much easier, and from time to time stopping to examine some object of interest, to dart into the woods after something that attracted their attention, or to lean over the cliff, and let stones fall, ‘and watch them as they fell straight down, far, down, till they struck the beach below.
By and by they became scattered. Phil Kennedy and Tom Crawford had gone across the island. Arthur and Bart were walking on, and Bruce lingered behind to try and find a gull’s nest, which seemed to be somewhere over the edge of the cliff. He lay down, and bent far over, and at length saw what he suspected. The gull that was on the nest flew away in affright, as she saw the face peering at her, and Bruce determined to seize the eggs. But how could he? The nest was out of his reach, he scrutinized the place narrowly, and at last concluded that it could be done. About three feet beneath him was a projecting rock. On this he could Stand; and holding on to the root of a tree at the edge of the cliff with one hand, he could extend his other hand far enough to touch the nest. All this he saw, and at once began to make the attempt. The edge of the cliff was rocky, and hung over a foot beyond the precipice; the projecting rock below did not come out so far. About five feet back, a tree grew, one of the roots of which had projected itself forward, and crooked itself along the edge, and the earth having been blown away, it was now exposed. This root Bruce grasped; and lowering himself over the edge, he let himself down till his feet touched the shelf; then lowering himself still more, he prepared to reach out his hand.
But at that instant a thrill of horror shot through every nerve. The shelf on which he was standing seemed slowly to sink beneath him. Well for him was it at that moment that he had not lowered, himself farther, and that there had not yet been time to extend his arm to the nest. The thrill of horror transfixed him. He sprang up, and grasped the root with both hands. The next instant the shelf crumbled away, and his feet hung idly in the empty air. A wild shriek sounded out—a shriek of mortal terror, that sent an icy chill to the heart of Bart and Arthur, and brought them back in mad anxiety and fear.
Far below, Mr. Simmons had been busily hammering at the cliffs. His basket was filled with unusually fine specimens, and he had just turned to send off Bogud with this basket to the landing-place. He was just in the midst of some directions about a peculiar hammer which he wanted, when suddenly an immense mass of rock came thundering down, and buried itself in the gravel, not ten feet in front of him. Mr. Simmons started back, and rushed far out from the treacherous precipice. Looking up with a white face, he sought to see the place from which the rock had fallen.
He looked up. A deeper, deadlier pallor came to his face; big drops started from his forehead; a shriek escaped him.
“O, God! Who is it?” he groaned.
For there on the edge, grasping the tree-root with both hands, hung the figure of a boy writhing as he sought to find some place for a foothold against the rock. Two figures were bending over.
By the red shirts which all wore, he knew that the one in danger must be one of those five that had dressed themselves in this way. But which of them it was, he could not tell.
His shriek roused others. Mr. Long came hurrying there, and the other boys, all looking up with eyes of horror and ashen lips. The moments of that suspense were agony.
There was nothing that they could do. Mr. Long alone tried to do something. Starting off at full speed, he ran on, trying to find a place to scale the cliff. Gradually a few others followed. But the rest thought it was of no use, and awaited the end in voiceless horror.
Meanwhile Bruce Rawdon had clung to the root, shrieking for help, and trying to find some resting-place for his feet. In vain he tried. The precipice retreated inward, and the shelf that had fallen left a deeper hollow behind. Almost senseless with the horror of his situation, he was conscious of nothing but the fact that friends were near; and for these he shouted, clinging desperately to the root of the tree. Another boy might have fallen; but Bruce’s muscles had been toughened by all kinds of manly exercise, and he had in him the germ and the promise of mighty strength and stature.
The shriek that roused Arthur and Bart was followed by others, which led them speedily to the place.
With a groan Arthur flung himself down, and grasped his brother by the wrist. Bart took a swift glance around.. A small tree was growing near the edge. Twining his sinewy legs around this, he bent his body over the precipice, and caught Bruce by the waistband. Then, clutching the tree with his legs, he made a mighty effort to raise Bruce. The latter, in the mean while, had seized Arthur, who was also trying to raise him. But Arthur had not a fair chance to exert his full strength, and so they prevailed but little against the dead weight which they were trying to lift.
“Arthur!” cried Bart.
“Well.”
“Can you catch hold of this tree where my legs are? Hold it with one hand, and then you can pull better with your other. Can you do it?”
“Yes. I’ve got hold.”
“Now then.”
With a tremendous effort, both boys pulled together. The slender tree bent beneath their efforts. But the weight was raised! Yes! O, thank God! higher—higher! There was Bruce’s head at the edge, and now his shoulders. And now he himself, by a last; despairing, convulsive effort, had flung himself forward, and was on the rock. They dragged him forward. He was saved.
Arthur burst into tears, and held Bruce in his arms. Bart rushed off for water. Returning in a few minutes with his leathern cup,—which he always carried,—full of cold water, he gave it to Bruce. The fainting boy drank it, and then drew a long breath.
“God bless you, boys!” he said at last, wringing the hand of each. He would have said more, but he could not.
“I’ll be all right’ presently,” said he, taking a long breath. “My heart feels painful;” and he pressed his hand against his breast. “Don’t bother any more, Bart. I’m coming round fast. Just let’s sit here, and be quiet for a little while.”
They sat there in silence for some time; and gradually the color began to come back to Bruce’s face.
Suddenly the crackling of brushwood was heard, avid Mr. Long came running up to them, his face as pale as death, and his eyes round with the horror of a frightful suspense. The moment he saw the little group, he flung himself on his knees by Bruce, and, catching him in his arms, he kissed him again and again.
“Thank God! O, thank God!” he moaned, and burst into tears.
Hitherto Mr. Long had the reputation, among the boys, of being a hard, unfeeling man; but from that moment this opinion was changed.
Mr. Long said nothing more at that time, partly because he did not wish to distress. Bruce by any questions just then, and partly because he was so faint, from the tremendous rush up the cliff, that he could not speak. In fact, for a time he seemed as much broken as Bruce. So they sat quietly together waiting.
Mr. Long’s effort was a desperate one, but the only thing to be done. It is possible that Bart and Arthur, if they could not have drawn up Bruce, might have held him there for a long time, and in that case Mr. Long would have been there to save him.
After about an hour, Bruce said he was all right, and they walked toward the place of descent. It seemed, indeed, as though he had got over his accident. He said his arms ached a little, and there was a slight pain in his breast, but that it was passing away. The descent was toilsome, but Bruce accomplished it as well as any of them. By the time he reached the shore, he declared himself perfectly well.
Mr. Simmons was there to meet him. He wrung his hand very earnestly, with tearful eyes, but did not trust himself to speak. Then Bruce told all about it, and the excitement of this adventure put an end to all further search for minerals.
At length five o’clock came, and they prepared to go back to the schooner. The tide had fallen considerably, and a strong current was running past them. The water was not so placid as it had been, but was getting broken up, and somewhat rough. The wind had changed, and was blowing more freshly than before. There were also gathering fog banks, which were drawing nearer every moment, and threatening soon to be around them. All things showed, therefore, that it was high time to retire. Signals were made, and before, long they saw the boat leave the schooner, and come to the shore.
On landing, the mate wanted to know if any of them could scull a boat. Bruce said that he could, and so did Arthur and Bart. The mate said that he wanted to stay aboard to get the sails ready; and to save time, it would be necessary for some one of them to bring the last boat aboard. Each one of these three offered to scull her; but it was at last decided that Arthur should go in the second boat and bring her back, while Bruce should take the last load. Bart readily gave up his claim to the others; and so it was arranged.
“But are you sure you’re strong enough for that?” said Mr. Long.
“Strong? Of course.” said Bruce. “I’m stronger than ever, sir.”
So the first boat started with the same load which it had when landing before, with the addition of one boy more. The next boat took Arthur and four more boys, leaving Bruce, and Tom, and Phil, and Bart.
About an hour had passed between the time when the boat left to take them from the island and the time when Arthur brought it back for the last trip. In that hour many changes had taken place. The tide had fallen farther. Between the beach, where they stood, and Pinnacle Island, the rocks were laid bare, and could be traversed on foot. Between the schooner and the shore, a swift current was running, which grew stronger every moment. By six o’clock the current was very powerful. The mate, on his second trip, had considerable difficulty in getting to the schooner; and he had given very careful directions to Arthur as to the course which he should go in returning.
“You must head the boat farther up,” said he, “so as to strike the scho’oner fair. I didn’t cal’late right about that there tide. You’ve got to head your boat well off that side, and then the tide ‘ll help you instead of henderin’.”
“All right,” said Arthur.
In going ashore, he found the current very strong; but the beach was long, and, of course, it was very easy to land somewhere. As it happened, he was carried down some fifty feet below the place which he wished to reach; but that didn’t make any practical difference. It served to open his eyes to the peculiar danger before them, and made him see that the very greatest care would have to be exercised in returning, or else the swift tide would sweep them away from the place to which they wished to go.
As Arthur looked round, after the other boys had got in, an exclamation burst from him.
“Whew!”
“What’s the matter?”
“Why, the fog. How suddenly it has come up! Why, it’s getting as thick as night. Look here, Bruce; we’ve got to be pretty careful this time. See here; you must head out that way, for the current is running like a race-horse, and this fog isn’t helping matters.”
He then proceeded to explain to Bruce the best course to take, and Bruce said he would do exactly as he told him.
“You’re sure you can do it. You’re sure you’re not used up at all,” said Arthur.
“Not a bit of it!” said Bruce, with a laugh.
“If I feel used up, I’ll hand over the oar to you or Bart.”
Saying this, he worked away with vigorous pushes, and the boat moved in the direction indicated by Arthur.
Bruce soon found that Arthur had not exaggerated the force of the current. It seemed to drag the boat sidewise with fearful power. But a strong hand was at the scull, and the boat’s course was true, and every moment brought them nearer.
As they went, the fog grew thicker at every foot. The wind blew more strongly, and the water grew rougher, making the progress of the clumsy boat more difficult. Soon the shore grew indistinct; but this they did not regard, since their eyes were fixed on the schooner, to which they drew steadily nearer. There, on board, stood the-other boys; and Mr. Simmons was talking to Captain Corbet, and Mr. Long was watching them with some anxiety. The mate stood near the bow with a rope, ready to throw as soon as they should come within reach.
But though near enough to see all this, they could not hope to get there yet without a severe effort. For now the farther out they went, the stronger grew the current; and Bruce felt a heavier drag, against the boat, and gathered up his strength for sterner exertions. He took a hasty look at the schooner, so as to get her bearings, and then headed the boat at a sharper angle against the current. This was admirably calculated; and now the boat fell off less, and seemed to work itself steadily toward the schooner.
Arthur was in the bows, anxiously watching the boat’s course. The other boys sat in silence, conscious of the hazard before them, but facing it bravely. On board the schooner not a word was spoken. Mr. Long’s face seemed to grow more anxious. His hands clutched one another with a rigid grasp, and his eyes seemed fastened on Bruce. The mate stood with his rope, not venturing to make any suggestion, for he saw that Bruce was doing all that could be done. His forehead was contracted into a painful frown, and he was whistling softly to himself (from a habit that he had acquired), and which, in him, was a sign of grave perplexity of soul.
Nearer and nearer came the boat; but the anxious watchers began to see that, the current was swerving them off more rapidly than they had expected, and that the angle of the boat’s drift would lie not so near as they hoped. Bruce saw this, and summoned up a new force out of his strong muscles. A few mighty ‘strokes, and something was gained even against the pressure of that tremendous current. There was the schooner. On—on; nearer—nearer.
They had hoped to touch her bow; but now they saw it would be well if they could get near her stern. Back ran the mate with his rope. Not a word was spoken. No one ventured to call for greater exertions from that brave, strong boy, who was plying his oar so mightily. And now the moment had come. Forward sprang the mate, and the rope sped through the air. Arthur’s hands were extended to seize it. Bruce did not abate one stroke, but worked with desperate energy. The boat was borne past the schooner’s quarter. The rope touched Arthur’s right hand,—his fingers closed around it.
Alas! it was but the extreme end of the rope that he held; and before his other hand could seize it, it had slipped through his fingers, and fell into the water.
“Row, row, Bruce! I’ve dropped the rope!”
A groan burst from Bruce. He gave three tremendous strokes. They were the last efforts of despairing energy. As he moved his arms to make the fourth, he staggered back. The oar fell from his nerveless grasp. He sank down, with a groan, at the bottom of the boat.
“Boys, I—I’m dying!”
Gasping out these words, Bruce closed his eyes, and lay motionless.
A cry of dismay and terror burst from the schooner. Pallid faces, and eyes of horror, were turned toward the boat, which now, hurled on by the swift current, was borne farther and farther away, until at last it vanished from view in the fog.