Arthur agreed with Wilkins; but it was a perilous undertaking to carry the canoes over the foaming breakers, the hidden rocks of that frowning coast. His own experience rendered him hopeless of ever accomplishing the task, and he was now thankful for the advice and assistance of Wilkins.
"Then we must tow them in the other canoe," said Arthur. "Remember, Wilkins, whether we be saved or lost, we must have them with us."
"Ay! ay!" answered he. "Let them fling us their tow-rope, and do you see to belay it cannily; and if we be swamped, look sharp and clutch Miss here, and make a swim with her. We're nigh shallow water now, and we may drive in, barrin' rocks."
It was only by clinging to each other, that Margaret and her father, as well as the two women in the second canoe, were able to keep their seats, as the waves tossed up, whirled, and washed over their frail barks. Sometimes they seemed to be thrown upon land, and the next wave carried them back with it.
"Now then!" cried Wilkins, holding up his oar, and signalling to Jack to follow his example. "Now, when we ground again, you, master, jump out and hold her hard for yer life."
The next moment the canoe did ground with a shock, and Wilkins plunged the oar into the sandy shore, and held his ground firmly till Arthur and Mr. Mayburn leaped out of the canoe and held the prow; he followed their example, and though still up to the waist in water, they grasped their charge, standing close to each other, and bravely withstood the returning wave. Then rapidly retreating to the shore, they easily drew after them the lightened canoe, and placed it high and dry on the beach before the next wave overtook them.
Jack and O'Brien, though they at last happily reached the same haven, had not escaped without mishap. The canoe had been capsized by the shock of grounding, and, but for the assistance of Wilkins, Ruth must have been lost. She was dragged out senseless, but still holding her basket on her arm; and her first words on her recovery were loud lamentations at the discovery that two of her fowls were drowned.
In the mean time the second canoe was whirling wildly among the breakers, and Arthur called out that, if possible, it must be saved; and all hands were soon engaged in catching the towing-rope, by which they soon succeeded in drawing the shattered bark to the beach.
"I think that is a useless labor, Arthur," said Mr. Mayburn, "for I trust that none here may ever again be compelled to tempt the dangers of the ocean in such a frail and imperfect bark. By God's mercy, our feet are once more upon the earth, the natural and ordained locality of man. Byron, the wondrous poet who apostrophized the ocean, says:—
'His steps are not upon thy paths,—thy fields
Are not a spoil for him,—thou dost arise
And shake him from thee!'