They had bound poor Agrippa as closely to him as they could, while round his own neck the carver had disposed a bag with money and such small specimens of his workmanship as were portable. His tools he was reluctantly obliged to leave behind him; his breathing could bear no further weight.
“Thou wilt be sorely scratched by Agrippa,” he said. He was so hopeful he could smile. But the monkey was so cowed that he only clung closely, turning his head piteously from side to side, and realising that something terrible was about to happen. Hugh bore himself manfully.
One or two of the sailors who had escaped, finding themselves safe, were ready to help Andrew with the rope, and though the boy was half choked and sorely beaten by the waves, he held on, reaching the shore after a tremendous tussle, by the end of which he was so spent that he fancied he must drop, when he felt himself clutched by Andrew and drawn through the remaining waves. He lay for a time exhausted on the beach; but life was young and strong in him, and he staggered to his feet, tried to comfort and warm the poor monkey, and to watch for his father’s coming.
Andrew had scarcely thought that Bassett would have the strength to bear the passage through the surf. It relieved him greatly to find that the carver was slowly nearing the shore. Now and then he disappeared under the crest of a great wave, but he always reappeared, holding on with a tenacity which was little less than miraculous. Andrew, though even his strength was pretty well spent, again cast himself into the sea to help him in his last struggle, and the carver by his aid managed to reach the shore, but in so terrible a plight that Hugh cried out and flung himself by his side.
And now a very dreadful thing happened, for, as Stephen lay there like a log and Hugh knelt calling on him to look up, the waves, which had but just had their prey snatched from them, as if they meant to show that in another case they had had their way, brought up something large and dark and motionless, and flung it at their very feet; and while Hugh, scarcely recognising what it was, yet shrank from it as from some fearful thing, two of the men ran hastily down and seized and dragged it beyond the water’s reach. Hugh caught the face then, and gave a cry of horror; it was the boy Jakes—dead.
He must have swooned after this, for when he came to himself again he was lying higher up, at the mouth of a small natural cave formed in the sandstone rock. His father sat by him, and in the cave a fire of brushwood had been lit, close to which crouched Agrippa, munching black rye bread soaked in sea water, and jabbering with satisfaction.
“Father,” said the boy, sitting up and rubbing his eyes, “are we safe?”
“Saved by a miracle, my little lad.”
“But Jakes—his face—what was it!”