A Terrible Coward

by George Manville Fenn

He was now near enough to see that it was a man—evidently a bather—who was struggling for his life and in terrible danger. The poor fellow seemed to have gone out too far, and, in his ignorance, had been drawn into the fierce current—one that no one dwelling about Carn Du would have ventured to approach; and, unless help were soon afforded, there would be a dead body cast up somewhere by a weedy cove just about the turn of the tide.

Harry Paul’s thoughts were busy, coward as he was, while his heart was beating so painfully that he seemed ready to choke.

“I can only do one thing,” he thought—“try to reach him with the boat. If I jump over and swim, I shall get there no faster, but if I do he will seize me in a drowning clutch, and we shall both go down.”

A curious shuddering sensation ran through him, and the remembrance of what he had gone through on the previous day came back with a strange exactness, in which he seemed to feel once more the cold clinging touch of the net upon his bare skin, and for the moment he felt as if he were paralysed.

He shook off the horrible sensation, though, and, toiling away at his oar, sent the boat rapidly on, so as to get into the current at right angles to its course, and be swept on towards the drowning man.

The help must come quickly if it was to be of use, for the swimmer was becoming a swimmer no longer. The horror of his position had robbed him, as it were, of his knowledge, and instead of striking out slowly and calmly, almost without effort, and keeping his head as low down in the water as possible, he was making frantic efforts to raise himself from time to time, and beating the water with his hands.

Then Harry could see an effort of the reason made over the animal faculties, and for a few moments the drowning man took a few steady strokes, but only to utter a gurgling cry and throw up his hands, beat the water again, and go under.

The moment before Harry Paul seemed to have been exerting his full strength to force the boat through the water, but an accession of strength came to him, and with a few fierce thrusts he drove her bows into the edge of the current, which gave it so quick a snatch that it was whirled round, and its occupant nearly lost his footing; but he was too practised a boatman for that. Recovering himself directly, he planted a foot on either side, the oar bent in the water, and, getting the boat’s head right, he forced her along farther and farther into the current, with which she seemed to race onward towards the drowning man.

He was quite a hundred yards from him yet; but rapidly diminishing the distance now, for the boat seemed to tear along; but Harry’s heart sank lower and lower, and the chilly feeling of despair grew more strong as, just when he had reduced the distance to about fifty yards, he saw a hand appear for a moment above the water, and then disappear, leaving the glistening surface perfectly blank.

Harry uttered a hoarse cry as he still sculled along, his eyes fixed upon the spot where the hand had disappeared, and then tracing in imagination the course the drowning man would take as he was swept along beneath the surface, he made for the place.