Mr. Claghorn's Daughter

by Hilary Trent

And then they saw a sight which made them forget all else—a fellow-creature, driving helplessly to destruction beneath their feet.

It was a lad, ignorant, it would seem, of the management of the frail vessel in which he was the sole passenger. Even in the hands of an experienced sailor the little boat, intended for smooth water only, would have been unsafe; now, unskilfully fitted with a mast and sail, managed by ignorant hands, and driven toward a coast that had no shelter, the storm rising each moment, the outlook was desperate for the voyager.

Leonard seized a trumpet from the appliances with which the wreck-house was furnished, and leaning far out of the window, bawled in stentorian tones, some order, which, whether heard by the boy or not, was unheeded. Indeed, the desperate situation seemed to have paralyzed him; he clung to the tiller with the proverbial clutch of the drowning man, utterly incapable of other action, if indeed other action could prevail.

Seizing a line, Leonard ran down the stairway to a platform built against the cliff and not many feet above the water. Natalie followed. The wind was rising every moment, the tide running higher with each succeeding wave, and now, as she noticed, even reaching the platform. Leonard noticed, too. "It is not safe here," he shouted to her, for the wind howled in their ears and the noise of the surge emulated the noise of the wind. At the same time he pointed to the stairway, signifying that she should return, but took no further heed of her. His one thought was to do the thing that would save the life in peril. She did not know what he was about to do, but watched him, ready to lend assistance, though without taking her eyes from the boy in the boat. Thus far it had escaped the sunken rocks, but it could not long escape the shore. The wind had blown the sail from its fastenings and it tossed upon the waves. Only the whirlpool formed by the sunken rocks and the sullenly receding waters, which had but a moment before been hurled against the cliff, stayed the wreck of the craft. It needed no experienced eye to recognize the imminence of the peril of the boy, and the sight of the solitary being, helpless and exposed to the rude mercy of the waves, was pitiful. Natalie wrung her hands and prayed in French, and while the infidel prayed the clergyman acted.

He had intended to cast the weighted end of the line across the boat and so give its passenger communication with the shore; even so, the case of the lad would have been but slightly bettered, since, though fast to the rope, to avoid being dashed against the rocks would be barely possible; but Leonard, almost in the act of throwing, saw that his intention was impracticable. He must wait until the boat had come a little nearer. Natalie, with alarm that was almost horror, saw him remove his coat and boots; she would have remonstrated, but she felt that remonstrance was useless. He stood a waiting hero, his whole being absorbed in the task before him. That task involved his plunging into the boiling surf, the very abyss of death. Who can say that some premonition of the future was not upon him, as, with uplifted head and watching eyes, he stood statue-like awaiting the supreme moment? Who knows but he was warned that better for him the whirlpool below than the woman at his side!

Keenly watching the boat, his hands had still been busy, and from the line he had fashioned a loop, which now he fitted over his head and beneath his armpits. The other end of the line he secured to a ring in the platform, and then, having said nothing to Natalie, but now taking her hand in his own, and holding it tightly, he waited.

Not long. As in a flash she saw the boat in fragments, the boy in the water, and in the same instant Leonard plunged in.

She seized the line, but let it have play. Leonard had reached the boy in one stroke, had him in his very grasp, when a huge receding wave tore them asunder, and both were lost to Natalie.

She pulled with all her strength. She knew that the boy was drowned and had no hope for Leonard; her hold of the rope aided in his rescue, as she was able to prevent his being carried away; but had it not been that the next wave swept him upon the platform, where he was instantly seized and dragged far backward by Natalie, who herself barely escaped being swept off, he must have been either drowned or dashed dead against the rocks.

For some minutes she believed him drowned. She had dragged him to a place of comparative safety and he lay quite still with his head in her lap. But after awhile he sighed and looked into her eyes, and at last sat up. "The boy?" he said.