Chapter Five.
Coals of Fire on an Enemy’s Head.
Harry Paul had been so busily employed in avoiding the drowning man’s grasp that, for the moment, the boat was forgotten. Now, however, that he had mastered him, he raised his head a little to look; but the boat was far away beyond his reach, and progressing at such a rate that he could not have overtaken it even had he been alone.
A feeling of dread would have mastered him now, but for the strong nerve that he brought to bear. There was no help there. They were several hundred yards now from the shore, and every moment being carried farther away. The part they were in was hidden by the great black pile of rocks by Carn Du from the little town and harbour, so that their peril could not be seen. It was evident, too, that the loud cries for help had not reached the ears of those about the harbour, and that no one was anywhere about the boats that swung from the buoys. On the one side there was the open sea, on the other the piled-up granite, which rose up like hand-built buttresses, composed of vast squared masses rising tier upon tier. At their foot the foam fretted and beat, and the forests of seaweed washed to and fro, presenting an almost impenetrable barrier to any one wishing to land; though here it was impossible, for the racing current formed another barrier, which a boat propelled by stout rowers would hardly have passed.
The act of his keeping the drowning man’s face slightly above the water had a bad effect for Harry Paul, inasmuch as it made him he was trying to succour struggle and endeavour to clutch at the arms that held him. Once he could do this, Harry knew that his case would be hopeless, for from that death-grapple there could be no escape. He held the man then firmly and swam on, feeling himself moment by moment grow more weary, for he was swimming in his clinging clothes, and unless help soon came he knew that he must loosen his grasp and strive to save his own life.
Terrible coward as he was deemed, though, this was not in Harry Paul’s disposition. He possessed all the stern, dogged determination of the true Englishman—that determination which has made our race renowned throughout the length and breadth of the world. He had determined to save this drowning man; he felt that it was incumbent upon him to give his best efforts to that end; so, setting his teeth, he cleverly managed to elude every clutch made at him, and swam on.
He did not know where he was going, but he felt that his only chance was to go with the current till he should be swept near some of the outlying rocks, when they might be drawn into an eddy, and so be able to climb up on to the shell-covered stones, and wait there till they were seen.
Try how he would, after some struggle with his captive it was impossible to help feeling a chill of dread, for he knew that he was swimming more laboriously, and that his limbs were like so much lead; but still he struggled on. Every now and then, too, the water washed over his face, telling him that his position was lower, and at last, when all seemed to be over and his strength was ebbing away, he raised his head for a last farewell look-out for help, and one of his hands struck against a rock.