With the exception of the moving incidents to be immediately narrated, the tale of this term’s life differs little from that of the preceding. The round of work and play was much the same; the harriers were out again, football went on as before, till superseded by the “athletics,” and a match was played on March 7th against Shrewsbury School on their ground, of which the result was a drawn battle.
Our difficulties this term were with the elements. In novels of school life, where the scene is laid on the coast, the hero always imperils his bones in an escapade upon the cliffs. The heroes of our romance knew what was expected of them. Accordingly, two new boys of a week’s standing start one afternoon for a ramble on Borth Head and are missing at tea-time. Search parties are organised at once (it was not the first occasion, for the writer remembers sharing in a wild-goose chase which lasted four hours of the night, along and under the same cliffs); while one skirted the marsh to Taliesin, another explored the coast. The latter party at nine o’clock in the evening discovered the involuntary tenants perched upon a rock a little way up the cliff. They had climbed to it to escape
the tide which had cut them off, and here they sat, telling stones in turn, they said, to while away the time till the tide should retire. Before the waters went, however, darkness came; and either from fear of breaking bones in the descent or suspicion of some fresh treachery in the mysterious sea, they clung to their perch, blessing the mildness of a January night without wind or frost, but blessing with still more fervency the lanterns of their rescuers. They had passed five hours in this anxious situation.
This was the sportive prelude of more serious trouble. Nunquam imprudentibus imber incidit: as the servant perhaps reflected, who, on Monday, January 29th, was conveying the dinner of his master’s family from the Hotel kitchen to Cambrian Terrace. As he crossed the gusty street between them, the harpies of the storm swept the dinner from dish, and rolled a prime joint over and over in the dust. A leg of mutton was following, but he caught it dexterously by the knuckle-end as it fell, and rescued so much from the wreck. Such incidents are significant: trifles light as air, no doubt, but at least they showed which way the wind blew. And did it not blow?
for three days the sou’-wester had been heaping up the sea-water against the shores of Cardigan Bay. People remembered with misgivings that an expected high tide coincided in time with the gale, and shook their heads significantly as they went to bed on the eve of January 30th.
In the half light before sunrise, the classes, emerging from the school-room after morning prayers, found the street between them and the Terrace threaded by a stream of salt water, which was pouring over the sea-wall in momently increasing volume. Skirting or jumping the obstruction they reached the class-rooms, and work began. But before morning school was over the stream had become a river, and thrifty housewives were keeping out the flood from their ground-floors by impromptu dams. Those who were well placed saw a memorable sight that morn, as the terrible white rollers came remorselessly in, sheeting the black cliff sides in the distance with columns of spouted foam, then thundering on the low sea-wall, licking up or battening down the stakes of its palisades, and scattering apart and volleying before it the pebbles built in between them, till the village
street was heaped with the ruins of the barrier over which the waters swept victoriously into the level plain beyond:
The feet had hardly time to flee
Before it brake against the knee,
And all the world was in the sea.
Those who were looking inland saw how
Along the river’s bed
A mighty eygre reared its head
And up the Lery raging sped.