“And she is breaking up,” said his wife. “Goodness grant she may disappear entirely before the young ones see her.”
“Oh!” cried Leonard, rushing into the kitchen; “the wreck! the wreck! It is the lugger. Oh the poor robber chief!”
“He is dead, my dear,” said Mrs Grindlay solemnly. “No, no; I can see him from our window, where Effie is crying. He is under the wreck of the masts amidships and alive, for he waved his hand to us. Oh, save him, Mr Grindlay, if you can!”
“Ah, lad, I fear nothing can be done!”
“I’ll go, I’ll go! Effie is not afraid; she says I may go. I’ve gone over worse rocks than that with a rope. He is alive, and I will save him. Quick, bring the rope, and an axe and saw.”
“The boy is a hero,” exclaimed Mrs Grindlay. “Do as he bids you, old man; the lad is in God’s own hands.”
“I am no hero. I only want to save the captain. He could not help kidnapping us, and he was so kind to Effie.”
The forepart of the lugger was wedged into a cave, close under a black beetling cliff, fully fifty feet in height. It was over here Leonard was going. There was no denying him. He had already thrown down the axe and saw to the wreck, and now, both Mr and Mrs Grindlay assisting, the rope was wound twice round an iron stanchion at the cliff top, which might have been used before for a similar purpose, or by men in search of eggs. Leonard’s legs were through the bight, and next minute he had disappeared over the cliff, and was gradually lowered down, and though half drowned with the driving spray speedily reached the deck.
Effie stood in tears at her window, praying. It was all the child could do.