CHAPTER X
THE WRECK
"Keep close in our wake, Simpson," cautioned Atherton, as the two boats cleared the end of the stone quay. "Give way, lads; long easy strokes."
It was an eerie experience to the two boats' crews, rowing in a dense mist that seemed to have a most bewildering effect upon all save Atherton, who, implicitly trusting to the small magnetic needle, knew that it was a matter of impossibility to miss hitting Seal Island somewhere. By having to frequently pull the starboard yoke-line Atherton realised that without the aid of the compass his boat would inevitably have described a wide circle, since the rowers on that side were pulling a stronger stroke than those on the port side.
"Rocks ahead!" shouted Everest, who was perched in the bows of the "Otters" boat.
"Stop pulling: backwater," ordered Atherton, and soon both boats were lying five yards apart and within twice that distance of the lee side of Seal Island.
"We've missed the landing, Atherton," announced Simpson.
"We have," agreed the Leader. "And what is more, I don't know on which side of it we are. One part of the cliff is very much like another. Look here, Simpson, you take your boat to the right, and I'll steer mine to the left: we cannot be very much out. The first one that finds the landing must give a hail."
The boats separated, both skirting the shore in opposite directions.
"There's some one rowing," exclaimed Everest. "Right ahead."
"I think it's Simpson's boat," replied Atherton. "It is difficult to locate sound in a fog."
Nearer and nearer came the sound, till Atherton knew that he was mistaken.
"Boat ahoy!" he bawled.
There was no reply. Whoever it was scorned to take notice of the hail, and the splash of the oars grew fainter and fainter.
"Here's the landing," announced Everest. "Why, that boat must have put off from there."
"Hope the fellow's honest," muttered Atherton, "or our camp might be ransacked. I didn't like his churlish manner in not replying. Shout to Simpson, Phillips, and let him know we've found the place."
As soon as the boats were hauled up and properly secured and their gear removed, the Scouts wended their way up the zig-zag path to the camp.
Atherton gave a sigh of relief to find that nothing had been interfered with. Speedily the tents were opened, the cooks tackled the kitchen fire, while foragers were sent to collect fuel and cover it up so that it might be dry for the morning.
As soon as the belated meal was over and the "camp fire" fairly in swing, Atherton called Simpson aside.
"What do you say to keeping watch all night?" he asked. "It may be a useless job, but there is something not quite right. I want to find out who the mysterious visitor to the Island is, and what he comes here for."
"I'm game," answered the Leader of the "Wolves." "We'll pick one fellow from each patrol and take two hours each; that will carry us through till sunrise, and I don't fancy any night prowler will be knocking about after that."
"Beastly rotten night to keep watch, though," commented the "Otters" Leader. "The mist is turning to rain. Tell those fellows to pile on more wood, make sure the tent pegs are firm and the guy-ropes eased off. They had better get into the tents before they get drenched."
With the rain the wind rose. At first it was content with moaning fitfully, but before nine o'clock it was literally howling, the explosive fog-signals still maintaining their accompaniment every five minutes.
"What's that noise?" asked Armstrong, in the interval between two stirring choruses.
The Scouts listened. Above the roar of the wind and the loud tattoo of the rain upon the drum-like canvas of the tents came a weird screech, like the shriek of a human being in agony.
"There it is again!" exclaimed Baker. "Perhaps some one has fallen over the cliff."
"It's too loud for a man's voice," said Simpson.
"All the same I don't like it," remarked Reggie Scott, in a subdued voice.
"Come on, kid, you're not afraid?" asked his Leader encouragingly, as he patted the Tenderfoot on the back.
"No, I'm not afraid," replied Scott. "But I wish that horrid noise would stop. There it goes again."
"Pick your man, Simpson," said Atherton, in a low voice. "I've spoken to Mayne and he's game. Phillips will remain in charge of our tent, and I suppose you will let Neale know that he will be responsible for order in the 'Wolves'' tent."
"Think it's any use?" asked the "Wolves'" Leader. "It's raining and blowing great guns, and a boat could hardly get across. We may be isolated here for days."
"Won't matter so long as the grub holds out," replied Atherton, cheerfully. "We'll stick to our plan. With greatcoats on we shall be all right."
As soon as the other occupants of the two tents were asleep, the two Leaders, with Mayne and Coventry major, donned their heavy coats and made their way down to the landing-place. It was hard work to prevent themselves being forced down the steep path at a break-neck pace, for the force of the wind behind them was terrific, but lower down the overhanging rocks afforded excellent protection.
"Got your flash lamp?" asked Simpson.
"I should jolly well think I have," answered Atherton. "Have you?"
"Yes; but, I say, will the tents stand it? It is blowing up there."
"They would have been down before this, I fancy," remarked Atherton. "There's that rummy noise again. What on earth can it be?"
"We'll find out to-morrow, if it keeps on," said Simpson. "Now, Coventry, you keep first watch: two hours, my fine fellow. We'll snooze in the hollow of the rocks. If anything suspicious occur, rouse us."
Sheltering as best he could, Coventry major took up his stand and commenced his lonesome vigil. He might well have been spared the task, for, although the Island acted as a kind of natural breakwater, the waves were beating so furiously on the landward side of the bay that it would be a matter of sheer impossibility for one or even three men to launch a boat.
At the end of his "trick" Coventry was relieved by Mayne, and he, too, cooled his heels in watchful inactivity. Atherton followed, and at length came Simpson's turn.
"Rain's knocking off," he remarked, as he took his chum's post. "That's one blessing."
"It will be daylight in less than an hour and a half. As soon as it is fairly light we will get back to our tents and have a decent sleep till half-past six," said Atherton. "I've neither seen nor heard a sign of anyone. There's only the howling of the wind, the noise of the fog-signals, and that peculiar shrieking sound to cheer you up, old man."
Once or twice to the lad's slightly overstrained nerves, Simpson imagined he saw something move, but unwilling to rouse his comrades he kept still long enough to make certain that his sense of sight had played him false. He was tired. Several times he caught himself dozing: his head would fall forward, only to recover itself with a jarring jerk as he became aware that he was on the point of sleeping at his post.
Suddenly, at no great distance off, came the heavy report of a gun.
The noise brought Atherton and his two companions out of their rough-and-ready shelter, and hardly able to realise what was amiss they rejoined Simpson.
"It was a gun; a vessel in distress off the back of the Island, I fancy," said the latter.
"Back to the camp for all you're worth," exclaimed Atherton. "We must turn the others out, and see if we can be of use."
But there was no need to arouse the rest of the two patrols. The detonation, sounding much louder on the higher ground than it had in the hollow where Atherton and his fellow-watchers had been sheltering, had effectually alarmed the Scouts, who, under Phillips' orders, had turned out in greatcoats, ready for action.
"Bring those ropes," shouted Atherton, striving to make himself understood above the howling of the wind, "and the large pulleys. There it goes again."
A vivid flash, outlining the crest of Seal Island, was immediately followed by the report, while simultaneously an answering rocket soared skywards from the coastguard station at Refuge Point. This was acknowledged by the lighthouse on Beware Point, and a message transmitted to Padstow summoning the lifeboat.
Bending to the storm the Scouts, bearing their gear, doubled towards the seaward side of the Island, in the direction indicated by the discharge of the gun.
Dawn was just breaking as they gained the edge of the cliffs. Below them, with her bows driven hard against an outlying rock, was a steamer of about eight hundred tons. Her funnel and masts had gone by the board, her foremast showing a stump of about ten feet above the deck. Cataracts of white water were pouring over her, while cowering on the fo'c'sle were about twenty men.
"What can we do?" asked Simpson anxiously. "We can't get a rope on board, and the cliffs are too steep to climb."
"Make fast the rope round me, old chap," said Atherton calmly. "I'm going to look over the edge to see what it is like down there."
Thus secured, the Leader of the "Otters" crawled over till he was able to command a view of the base of the cliffs.
The outlook was not promising. In the grey dawn the kelp-covered rocks were barely distinguishable from the water that lashed itself against the bulwarks of Seal Island. Close to the foot of the cliffs, and immediately below the place on which he was lying, Atherton descried a ledge about twenty feet in breadth. Although slippery with spray this flat-topped rock was sufficiently high to be out of reach of the actual waves. From it other lower ledges ran seaward, and between two of these the ill-fated steamer had piled herself up on the rocks.
"Simpson," said Atherton, hurriedly, "we must get half a dozen of our fellows down there. There we may be of use. Signal to the ship and tell them to try and send a rope ashore. It is impossible for us to heave a line to them in the face of this gale. Send down half a dozen staves after us: they may come in useful."
While Simpson was flag-wagging the message, Atherton, Phillips, Green, Mayne, Everest and Baker were lowered down to the ledge, the two Tenderfoots of the "Otters" remaining with the "Wolves." Before the last Scout was down a man was observed standing in the bows of the wrecked craft. Wave after wave broke over him, but secured by a lashing he worked desperately in order to form a means of communication with the shore with a coil of rope and a life-buoy.
"Look out!" cautioned Atherton, as the life-buoy was hove into the raging waters. "We must get hold of that, somehow."
Jack Phillips, ever resourceful, had already uncoiled about thirty feet of thin but strong line, and had bent one end to the centre of his staff. Steadied by his companions the Second of the "Otters" stood on the brink of the ledge, his staff held harpoon-wise, ready to make a thrust at the life-buoy, that was momentarily drifting nearer and nearer the shore.
Up went his arm; the ash pole darted obliquely towards the crest of a wave on which the buoy was being swept. He missed the mark by less that a foot, and the life-buoy, left by the receding wave, was jammed in an almost vertical position between two jagged rocks.
"I must wait till the next wave shifts it," he bawled to his comrades, for the roar of the wind and waves made ordinary conversation inaudible.
With a smother of foam the next breaker hurled itself against the cliff. It was lower than the preceding one and failed to dislodge the life-buoy from its resting-place.
"Has it gone?" shouted Atherton.
"No," replied Phillips, "I wish it would." Then seized by an inspiration, he cast off the line from his staff, tied it round his body and called to his chums to lower away. The next moment he was on his way down to the stranded life-buoy.
It was a distance of only ten feet, but every inch of that space was fraught with danger. Not only was there a possibility of a huge wave dashing the young Scout against the rocks with resistless force, but there were risks of losing his hold on the slippery wall and of the cord that steadied him being unable to withstand the sudden strain.
Without mishap Phillips came within reach of the object of his dangerous task. He grasped the life-buoy, and shouted to the Scouts on the ledge to haul away. To his consternation there was no attempt to raise him to safety, while on the other hand a tremendous wave was bearing down upon him.
Phillips' first impulse was to let go the buoy and swarm up the rope hand over hand. On second thoughts he realised that it was his life against the lives of all the crew of the doomed ship, and to relinquish the means of communication at this juncture would be cowardly and selfish.
Planting his heels firmly into a niche in the rocks and setting his shoulders against the natural wall, Phillips unhesitatingly cast off the cord round his waist and bent it on to the life-buoy. The wave was now barely thirty yards off, and to the inexperienced lad it looked mountainous.
"Never say die," he muttered between his tightly clenched teeth; but all the same he realised that it was the tightest corner he had yet been into in the course of the sixteen years of his life.
Then a strange thing happened. The huge breaker was preceded by another of considerable less height. Pounding against the rocks the first wave rebounded and met the dangerous one just as it was on the point of curling ere it broke. The collision was insufficient to stop the oncoming wave, but it considerably checked its impetus. It broke; the solid water swirled over the lad's legs till it reached above his knees, while for the next few seconds he was gasping for breath as he swallowed the salt-laden air.
The work he had undertaken being accomplished, Phillips hesitated no longer. Hand over hand he dragged himself, encumbered though he was by his sodden clothing, towards the ledge, till to his unbounded relief he felt his wrists grasped by his companions.
"Where's the buoy?" asked Atherton.
"Haul away," gasped Phillips, "you'll find it," and too exhausted to say more he staggered to the base of the main cliff and sat down to recover his breath.
Foot by foot the saturated rope came home till the "Otters" hauled ashore a large block, through which was rove a heavier rope.
"It's a kind of life-saving line, lads," exclaimed Atherton. "Make fast the pulley as quickly as you can. Wedge these staves between these two rocks. See they don't slip: they'll stand the strain."
As soon as this was done a message was signalled to the ship announcing that all was in readiness.
Without delay those on board began to haul on the endless rope, and the Scouts saw a man, seated in a life-buoy, leave the stranded vessel.
The next instant he was buried in a white-crested wave. The strain upon the ropes was terrific, but they stood the test right well, and as the breaker swept ahead the man was found to be still clinging to the buoy. Thrice ere he was hauled to a place of safety he was overtaken by the waves, till quite exhausted the first survivor was assisted to the most sheltered position on the ledge.
Again and again the buoy made its double journey, and each time it returned with one of the crew. Ropes were lowered from the summit of the cliff, and as the rescued men were hauled up by the "Wolves" they were escorted to the camp, whither the three Tenderfoots had previously been sent to prepare hot coffee.
Four men only remained on board. The hull was already showing signs of parting amidships. The tide had fallen considerably, and the task of hauling the buoy with its living burdens up to the ledge continually became harder.
One of the four, slipping into the buoy, began the hazardous journey. Half the distance was accomplished in safety, when a huge wave swept over and passed the doomed vessel.
[Illustration: "Quite exhausted, the first survivor was assisted to the most sheltered position on the ledge."—Page 114.]
The Scouts felt the strain suddenly relax. When the breaker had passed, their worst fears were realised. The life-line had parted, the man in the buoy was at the mercy of the waves, and the retreat of the remaining three was cut off: