The Second E. F. Benson Megapack

by E. F. Benson

Hugh did not pause. He laid hold of Seymour by the shoulder.

  “Run up to the house,” he said, “and fetch a couple of men. Bring down with you as much rope as you can find. Don’t say anything to Nadine and the women. But be quick.”

  He ran down to the beach himself, as Seymour went on his errand, seeing at once that there were two things that might happen to this stricken wanderer of a ship. In one case, the incoming tide with its following waves might bear it straight on to the sandy beach; in the other the cross-current, in which now it was laboring, might carry it across to the reef where the waves were wrestling and roaring together. It was in case of this first contingency that he ran down upon the sands to be ready. The beach was steep there: it would ride it until it was flung down by that fringe of toppling, hard-edged breakers. In that tumble and scurry of surf it might easily be that strong arms could drag out of the fury of the backwash whatever was cast there. The boat, a decked fishing-boat, would be dumped down on the sand: there would be a half-minute, or a quarter-minute, when something might be done. On the other hand this greedy sucking current might carry it on to the reef. Then, by the mercy of God, a rope might be of some avail, if a man could reach them.

  As he ran down the cliff, a sudden splash of sunlight broke through the clouds, making a bright patch of illumination round the boat as it swung over another breaker. There was only one figure there now, lying full length on the deck, and clinging with both hands to the stump of the mast. Then once again the water broke over it, lucidly green in the sunlight, and all Hugh’s heart went out to that solitary prone body, lying there helpless in the hands of God and the gale. His heart stood still to see whether when next the drifting boat reappeared it would be tenantless, and with a sob in his throat, “Oh, thank God,” he said, when he saw it again.

  It was still doubtful whether the current or the tide would win, and Hugh pulled off his coat and waistcoat, and threw them on the beach, in order to be able to rush in unimpeded of hand and muscle. Then with a strange sickness of heart, he saw that the boat was getting in nearer, but moving sideways across to the left, where the reef lay. And he waited, in the suspense of powerlessness. The wind now had quite abated; it was as if it had done its work, in making ready this theater of plunging water; now waited to observe what drama should be moving across the stage of billows.

  Soon from behind, he heard across the shingle at the top of the beach the approach of the others. Seymour had brought Berts and two men with him, and they brought with them half-a-dozen long coils of rope, part of the fire-rescue apparatus of the house. While watching and waiting for them, his plan was quite made. It was no longer possible to hope that the boat would come to land on the sandy beach, where without doubt two or three able-bodied men could rescue any one cast up, but was driving straight on to the rocks. Once there, rescue was all but impossible; the only chance lay in reaching it before it was smashed to atoms on the immense boulders and sharp-toothed fangs. Quickly he tied three of the ropes together, and fastened the end round his body just below the shoulders, and took off his boots.

  “I’m going in,” he said; “you all hold the rope and pay it out. If I come near the end of it, tie a fresh piece on—”

  Suddenly across the shingle came footsteps, and a cry. Nadine ran down the beach towards them. She was clad only in a dressing-gown, that rainbow-hued one in which one night last June she had entertained a company in her bedroom, and slippers so that her ankles showed white and bare. She saw what Hugh intended, and something within her, some denizen of her soul, who till that moment had been unknown to her, took possession of her.

  “No, Hughie, not you, not you,” she screamed. “Seymour, anybody, but not you!”

  The cry had come from her very heart; she could no more have stifled it than she could have stopped the beating of it. Then, suddenly, she realized what she had said, and sank down on the beach, burying her face in her hands.

  “Take care of her, Seymour,” said Hugh, and there was more heroism required for these few little words, than for the desperate feat he was about to attempt. He did not look round again, nor wish to say anything more, and there was no time to lose.

  “Now, you chaps!” he called out, and ran forward to the edge of the water.

  At the moment an immense billow poised and curled just in front of him. The wash of it covered him waist-deep and he floundered and staggered as the rush of water went by him. Then as it drew out to sea again he ran with it, to where another breaker was toppling in front of him. With a low outward spring he dived into the hollowed water head foremost and passed through it.

  The beach was very steep here, and coming up again through and beyond the line of surf, he found himself in deep water. Behind him lay the breaking line of billows, but in front the huge mountains of water rose and fell unbroken. As he was lifted up on the first of these, swimming strongly against it, he saw not a hundred yards from him his helpless and drifting goal. He could see, too, who it was who lay there, desperately clinging to the stump of the mast with white slender wrists; it was quite a young boy. And at that sight, Hugh’s pity and determination were strung higher than ever. Here was a young creature, in desperate plight among these desperate waterways, one who should not yet have known what peril meant. And at the risk of spending a little strength, when strength was so valuable, Hugh gave a great shout of notice and encouragement. Then he was swallowed up in the trough of a wave again. But when he rose next, he saw that the boy had raised his head, and that he saw him.

  The current that swept towards the rocks, swept also a little shorewards, and Hugh measuring the distance between the boat and the fatal breakers with his eye, and measuring again the distance between the boat and himself, knew that he must exert himself to the point of exhaustion to get to the boat before it was drifted to its final destruction. But as he swam he knew he had made a mistake in not taking off his shirt and trousers also and giving himself an unimpeded use of his limbs. His trousers particularly dragged and hampered him; then suddenly he remembered a water-game at which he used to be expert at school, namely taking a header into the bathing-place in flannels and undressing in the water. It seemed worth while to sacrifice a few seconds to accomplish that, and, as cool and collected as when he was doing it for mere sport at school, he trod water, slipped his legs out of his trousers, and saw them float away from him. Then twice as vigorous, he struck out again. His shirt did not bother him: besides, the rope was tied round his chest, and there was not time for more disencumbrances.

  For the next five minutes, for he was fighting the tide, he just swam and swam. Occasionally rising to a wave it seemed to him that he was making no headway at all, but somehow that did not discourage him. The only necessity that concerned him was that he must go till he could go no longer. And all the time, like a dream and yet like a draught of wine to him was Nadine’s involuntary cry, “No, Hughie, not you!” He did not trouble to guess what that meant. He was only conscious that it invigorated and inspired him.

  The minutes passed; once the rope seemed to jerk him back, and he found himself swearing underneath his breath. Then, though it was terribly heavy, he realized that it was free again, and that he was not being hampered. Then he suddenly found himself much closer to the boat than he had any idea of, and this, though he was getting very tired, gave him a new supply of nervous force. He swam into three valleys more, he surmounted three ridges of water, and lo, the boat was on the peaks directly opposite to him, and from opposite sides they plunged into the same valley together. Not fifty yards off to the left, incredible fountains of foam spouted and aspired.

  Then, oh, blessed moment! He caught hold of the side of the lurching fishing-smack, and a pale little boyish frightened face was close to his. He clung for a second to the side, and they went up and down two big billows together. Then he got breath enough to speak.

  “Now, little chap,” he said, “don’t be frightened, for we’re all right. Catch hold of the rope here, close to my body, and just jump in
. Yes, that’s right. Plucky boy! Take hold with both hands of the rope. Not so cold, is it?”

  Once again, before he let go of the boat, they rose to an immense wall of water, and Hugh saw the figures on the beach, four of them standing in the wash of the sea, paying out the rope, and one standing there also a little apart waving seawards, clapping her hands. And what she said came to him clear and distinct across the hills and valleys of destruction.

  “Oh, Hughie, well done, well done!” she cried.

  “Now pull, all of you, pull him in!”

  He was glad she added that, for in the hurry of the moment he had given no instructions as to what they were to do when he reached the boat; and what seemed so obvious out here might not have seemed so obvious to those on the beach, and he was not sure that there was enough power left in him to shout to them. But Nadine understood: once she had said she understood him too well. It was enough now that she understood him enough.

  He let go of the boat. For a moment it seemed inclined to follow them, and he thought the bowsprit was going to hit him. Then he felt a little pull on the rope under his shoulders, and the boat made a sort of bow of farewell, and slid away towards the spouting towers of foam. Hugh was utterly exhausted: he could just paddle with a hand or kick downwards to keep his head above water, but he gave away one breath yet.

  “Nothing to be frightened at,” he said. “We’re all right now.”

  The buoyant water, for all the wickedness of its foam and savage hunger, sustained him sufficiently. He turned round seawards in the water so that the great surges did not overwhelm him from behind, and put an arm on the rope underneath the boy’s neck, so as to support them both. He forced himself even in his utter weariness to be collected and to remember that for several minutes yet there was nothing whatever to be done, except with the minimum possible of exertion to keep afloat, while the rope towed them back towards that line of steep towers and curling precipices beyond which lay the shore, and those who stood on the shore. Sometimes the crest of a wave broke over them, almost smothering him, but then again they found themselves on a downward hillside of water, where the panting lungs could be satisfied, and the laboring heart supplied. Somewhere inside of him he knew he wanted to know where this poor foundered fishing-smack had come from and how this young boy had managed to cling to it, but he had not sufficient strength to give voice to his desire, for all that he had must be husbanded to meet that final assault of the row of breakers through which they had to pass.

  And as they got nearer, he began to form his plan. This young unknown life, precious to him now as an unborn baby to a woman, was given into his charge. It seemed to him that, as a woman has to bring the life within her to birth whatever it costs her, so he had to save the life of this unknown little fisher-boy, and take all risks himself. Whatever lay beyond that line of breakers, his business was here, and he did not for one second argue the values. He did not forget Nadine nor her last cry to him as he set forth on his peril, but for the moment there was something that concerned him even more than Nadine, and he had to make the best plans he could for saving this young life that had been put in his hands, even if he fought God over it. The only question was how to get the best chance of saving it.

  They were close in now, and this three-minute pause of floating had restored him. He was just conscious of bitter cold, even as he was conscious of the group on the edge of the sand, and of the hissing waters. But none of these things seemed to have anything to do with him; they were but external phenomena. Between him and the shore were still three towering lines of breakers, sharp-edged and steep as rocks: the third of these suddenly fumbled and disappeared with a thick thud, and an uprising of shattered spray. And suddenly his plan proved itself, fully-finished to his mind.

  He had been swimming for not more than a quarter of an hour, and the minutes of that fierce outward struggle which had seemed so long to him had to Nadine passed in a flash. For once she had got completely outside herself, and, concentrated and absorbed in another, the time had gone by in one flare of triumphant expectation. For one moment after that heart’s cry had been flung out of her she had sat dazed and bewildered by the consciousness that it seemed to have revealed to her, for until she had cried out that Seymour, that anybody but Hugh, must make the desperate attempt, she had not known her own heart, nor could she have, for it was not till then that it was unlocked to herself. When she looked up again Hugh had already plunged through the breakers, and was swimming, and instantly her soul was with him there in the inhuman sea, glorying in his strength, proud of the splendid and desperate adventure, and not for one moment doubtful of its success. None but he, she felt, could do it, and it was impossible that he should fail. She would not have had him back by her side saying that the attempt was mere suicide, for all the happiness that the world contained, and had she been able to change places with the boy who clung to the helpless boat, she would have sprung ecstatic to the noble risk, for the sake of having Hugh battle the seas on his way to rescue her. Failing that, it had been gloriously ordained that he should do this, and that she should stand with heart uplifted and be privileged to see the triumphant venture. She saw him reach the boat, knowing that he would, and clapped her hands and called to him, and with bright eyes and laughing mouth she eagerly watched him getting nearer. Then, just at the moment when Hugh made his plan, she realized that between him and her there lay that precipice of water that kept flinging itself down in thunder on the shore, and ever re-forming again. And the light died out of her face, and she grew ashen gray to the lips and watched.

  Hugh had been floating with his face seawards. Now he turned round to the shore again. She saw him smile at the boy, as they rose on the crest of a wave, and she saw him speak.

  “Now we’re all right,” was what he said. “Get on my back, and hold on to my shoulders.”

  The rope had ceased to pull. The men in control of it just held it taut, waiting to pull when the exact moment came. The boy did as he was told, and next moment the two rose up on the crest of the line of breakers. Twenty feet below him as they topped it, Hugh looked over upon the backwash of the preceding wave which was being dragged into the billow which bore them and was growing higher as it rose to its ruin. But the boy’s fall would be broken: at least this plan seemed to give the best chance.

  Then the wave curled, and he was flung forwards, twisting as he fell. He saw the slim little figure he had been carrying shot over his shoulder, and flung clear of the direct impact of the wave on the beach, and he heard his mind say, “That won’t hurt him.”

  Then he felt something stupendous, as heavy as the world, strike him on the back. After that he felt nothing more at all.

  * * * *

  As dusk was closing in, Nadine sat in the window of her big black-painted bedroom, where so many well-attended sessions had been held. Hugh had been in the surgeon’s hands since they carried him in, and all that could be done had been done. Afterwards Nadine had seen the surgeon, and learned from him all there was to fear and the little there was to hope for. It was possible that Hugh might not live till the morning, but simply pass away from the shock of his injuries. On the other hand his splendid constitution might pull him through that. But given that he lived through the immediate danger, it was doubtful if he could ever lead an active life again. The boy he had saved was practically unhurt, and was fast asleep.

  Nadine sat there very quiet both in mind and body. She did not want to rave or rebel, she merely let her mind sit, as it were, in front of these things, and contemplate them, like a picture, until they became familiar. She felt they were not familiar yet; though she knew them to be true, they were somehow unreal and incredible. She did not yet grasp them: it seemed to her that her mind was stunned and was incapable of apprehending them. So she had to keep her attention fixed on them, until they became real. Yet she found it difficult to control her mind: it kept wandering off into concentric circles round the center of the only significant thing in the world.

/>   Out on the sea the sun had set, and there were cloud-bars of fading crimson on the horizon level across a field of saffron yellow. This yellow toned off into pale watery green, and high up in the middle of that was one little cloud like an island that still blazed in the sunlight of the upper air. Somehow that aroused a train of half-forgotten reminiscences. There had been a patch of sunlight once like an island, on the gray of the sea…it was connected with a picture…yes, it was a sketch which Esther had made for Hugh, and she had put in the island reluctantly, saying it looked unreal in nature and would be worse in art. But Hugh had wanted it there, and, as Esther worked, she herself had walked with him along the beach from which he had been carried up today, and she had told him that he lived in unrealities, and pictured to himself that some day he and she would live on some golden sunlit island together. She remembered it all now.

  Her mind came back to the center again, and started off anew on that splendid deed of the morning. She had quite lost her head when she called out, “No, Hughie, not you!” It must have been Hugh to do it, no one else could have done it. The idea of Berts or Seymour wrestling with and overcoming that mountainous and maddened sea was unthinkable. Only Hugh could have done it, and the deed was as much part of him as his brown eyes or his white strong teeth. And if at the end the sea had flung him down and broken him, that was after he had laughed at the peril and snatched its prey out of its very jaws! Even as things were now with him, Nadine could not regret what he had done, and if time had run back, and she saw him again plunging into that riot and turmoil, she felt that she would not now cry out to him like that. She would have called Godspeed to him instead.

  Once again her mind rippled away from its center. She had called out to Seymour or Berts to go. At the time it had been quite instinctive, but she saw now what had prompted her instinct. She meant—though then she did not know she meant it—that she could spare any one but Hugh. That was what it came to, and she wondered if Hugh had understood that. Seymour without doubt must have done so: he was so clever. Probably he would tell her he understood, and ask her if it was not that which was implied. But all such consideration seemed to her to matter very little. There was only one thing that mattered, and that was not whether Hugh lived or died even, but simply the fact of Hugh.