“So I do!” exclaimed Sam, letting down his feet. “Madge, darling, cheer up, we’ve got soundings. Give Sammy to Slagg. There, we’ll do famously now.”
Only those who have been for a few moments in deadly peril can understand the feeling of intense relief that came to Sam Shipton’s heart when he felt his toes touch ground on that eventful night. The feeling was expressed in his tone of voice as he asked Slagg whether he had seen any of the others.
“No, sir, I ain’t seen ’em for want o’ light, but I’ve heerd ’em. Stumps is splutterin’ behind us like a grampus. If you’ll hold on a bit an’ listen you’ll hear him. He’s a bad swimmer, and it’s all he can do to save hisself. If he only knowed he could reach bottom with his long legs, he’d find it easier. Not quite so tight, Sammy, my boy, and keep off the wind-pipe—so; you’re quite safe, my lad. As for the rest of ’em, sir, they all swim like ducks except Mr Ebbysneezer Smith, but he’s took charge on by Captin Rik, so you may keep your mind easy. There’s a bit o’ flat beach hereabouts, an’ no sea inside the reef, so we’ll git ashore easy enough—let’s be thankful.”
Jim Slagg was right. They got ashore without difficulty, and they were thankful—profoundly so—when they had time to think of the danger they had escaped.
After a few minutes’ rest and wringing of salt water from their garments, they proceeded inland to search for shelter, and well was it for the shipwrecked party that the captain of the lost yacht was acquainted with the lie of the land, for it was a rugged shore, with intermingled fields and morasses, and wooded rocky heights, among which it would have been difficult, if not impossible, to thread one’s way in the dark without severe damage to the shins. But Jim Slagg led them to a cottage not far from the sea, where they received from the family resident there at the time a warm and hearty Scottish welcome.
It is not uncommon, we suspect, for eccentric natures to undertake the most important matters at the most unsuitable times and in the most ridiculous manners. At all events Robin Wright, while stumbling among the rocks and rugged ground of that midnight march in Mull, dripping wet and with the elements at war around him, conceived the idea of declaring his unalterable, not to say unutterable, attachment to Letta Langley, who leant heavily on the arm of her preserver. But Robin was intensely sensitive. He shrank from the idea, (which he had only got the length of conceiving), as if it had been a suggestion from beneath. It would be unfair, mean, contemptible, he thought, to take advantage of the darkness and the elemental noise to press his suit at such a time. No, he would wait till the morrow.
He did wait for the morrow. Then he waited for the morrow afterwards, and as each morrow passed he felt that more morrows must come and go, for it was quite obvious that Letta regarded him only as a brother.
At last, unable to bear it, our unhappy hero suddenly discovered that one of the morrows was the last of his leave of absence, so he said good-bye in despair, and parted from his companions, who could not resist the genial hospitality of their new friends in the cottage on the west of Mull.
Ten days later Sam got a letter from Robin, telling him that he had received a cable-telegram from India, from their friend Redpath, offering him a good situation there, and that, having reached the lowest depths of despair, he had resolved to accept it, and was sorry he should not have an opportunity of saying good-bye, as he was urged to start without a day’s delay.
Sam was staying with his friends at the Oban Hotel at the time, having at last managed to tear himself away from the cottage in Mull.