“Jenny, you know how to climb almost like a boy; help Inna to land on the ledge: there’s room,” cried Dick in desperation, peering down in awe at Oscar, lying so still on his narrow resting-place. “Then between you tug up the twins, and I’ll go down to the shore yonder and get help and a rope, and come down to you.”
Thus instructed and admonished, Jenny took heart, and, thanks to the knowledge of climbing trees which Dick had taught her, she scrambled up with Inna, and planted her safe by her cousin’s side. Then down she slid again, brave little maiden, like a very boy, and tugged and twisted up the midges, as they sobbed in their forsaken terror, Inna reaching down and lending a helping hand.
They were safe at last, for the time being, from the clutching water, rising and still rising below them; then Dick sped away. But what of Oscar: was he dead? and what if help should not reach them in time, and the tide should overwhelm them, after all?
[Back to [Contents]]
[p133]
CHAPTER XI.
THE RESCUE—CLOUDY DAYS—GOOD NEWS AT LAST.
Like the wind sped Dick—it must be now or never. The fear was upon him that high tides, at any rate, did reach the ledge of safety where the girls were sheltering. He fancied he had seen water-marks above that. Then about Oscar: that was a terrible height to fall. What if he was dead? what if he should revive, and, not being sensible, fall off the shelf of rock?—the girls could not hold him back. He must have struck his head fearfully. “I thought, having such a craze for being a sailor, he would have had a steadier head and more of sea-legs. I wish I’d gone down, and he held the rope.” Such thoughts came crowding into the boy’s head as he scudded along.
Away to the right were the fishing-boats coming in, their sails dashed with gold and [p134] crimson, but not a craft of any kind lay to the left, where lives, so to speak, were being weighed in the balance. At last Dick was among the fisher-folk, telling his story, and a band of the hardy fellows put off in a boat for the scene of peril, a party mounting over the cliffs with a strong rope, Dick foremost of all.
“Let me go down: they are more to me than to you,” he pleaded, when they were on the cliffs, above where the little party crouched on their narrow strip of ledge. “I ought to have gone down instead of Willett; let me go down now.”
But the fishermen set him aside.
“No, sir, not while we men can go down better”; and one, a giant in height, strength, and kindliness of heart, tied the rope about himself, and, as poor unfortunate Oscar had done, stepped over to the rescue.