"What?"
"Hadn"t we better go on the jetty?"
"Why?"
"There might be a wreck, you know."
"So there might."
Next moment we were out of bed and dressing quietly.
We need not have minded about the noise, for the roar of the storm outside would have prevented any one from hearing sounds twenty times louder than those we made, as we crept into our clothes and pulled on our boots.
"All ready, Jack?"
"Yes; mind how you go down."
We crept downstairs, past grandfather"s room, where a light was burning, down into the hall, and through the pa.s.sage to the back door. We pulled the bolts and opened it carefully. Fortunately, it was on the sheltered side of the house. Had it been the front, the blast that would have rushed in would certainly have discovered our retreat.
We stepped cautiously out and closed the door behind us. We were surprised to find how still it seemed at first, compared with what we had imagined. But next moment, as we got past the back of the house and came suddenly into the full force of the wind, we knew that the storm was even fiercer than we supposed. At first we could barely stand, as with heads down and knees bent we struggled forward. But we got more used to it in a little while, and once in Harbour Street we were again in shelter.
Harbour Street was empty. No one saw us as we glided down it towards the jetty. We heard the church clock strike half-past eleven, the chimes being swept past us on the wind.
As we turned out of Harbour Street on to the jetty the force of the gale once more staggered us, and we had almost to crawl forward. There were lights and the cheery glow of a fire in the "look-out," and we knew there must be plenty of sailors there. But somehow at this time of night we did not care to be discovered even by our friends the sailors.
So we kept on, holding on to the chains, towards where the red light burned at the jetty-head.
We were too excited to be afraid. One of those strange spirits of adventure had seized upon us which make boys ready for anything, and the thought of standing alone at midnight at the pier-head in a storm like that did not even dismay us.
But before we were half-way along we found that it was not the easy thing we imagined. A huge wave struck the jetty behind the wall under which we crept, and next moment a deluge of spray and foam shot up and fell, drenching us to the skin. And almost before we knew what had happened another and another followed.
We turned instinctively towards the "look-out," but as we did so a fourth wave, huger than all the rest, swept the jetty from end to end, and but for the chain, on to which we clung, we should have been washed off.
Our only chance was to run for the nearest shelter, and that was the lee of the tarpaulin-covered lifeboat, which lay up on its stocks, out of the reach of the spray, and seeming to us to offer as much protection ash.o.r.e as it could do afloat.
Half a dozen staggering steps brought us to it. But even in this short s.p.a.ce another wave had drenched us. We were thankful to creep under its friendly shelter, and once there we wondered for the first time how we were ever to get back. Our hearts were beginning to fail us at last.
We were cold and shivering, and wet through, and now the rain came in gusts, to add to our misery.
"Couldn"t we get inside?" said Jack, with chattering teeth.
As he spoke a shower of salt spray leapt over the boat and deluged us.
Yes; why not get inside under the tarpaulin, where we could shelter at once from the cold, and the wet, and the wind? n.o.body could see us, and if any one came we could jump out, and presently, perhaps, the storm might quiet down, and we could get back to bed.
Jack had already clambered up the side, and lifted a corner of the tarpaulin. I followed, and in a minute we were snugly stowed away, in almost as good shelter as if we had never left our bedroom.
Then we sat and listened drowsily to the wind raging all round, and heard the spray falling with heavy thuds on the tarpaulin above us.
"It must be past twelve, Jack," said I; "a Merry Christmas to you."
But Jack was fast asleep.
Chapter II. The Rescue.
How long Jack and I had lain there, curled up under the bows of the "Dreadnought" that stormy Christmas morning, I never knew. For I, like him, had succ.u.mbed to the drowsy influence of the cold and wet, and fallen asleep.
I remember, just before dropping off, thinking the storm must be increasing rather than otherwise, and vaguely wondering whether the wind could possibly capsize the boat up here in the top of its runners.
However, my sleepiness was evidently greater than my fears on this point, and I dropped off, leaving the question to decide itself.
The next thing I was conscious of was a strange noise overhead, and a sudden dash of water on to the floor of the boat just beside me. Then, before I could rub my eyes, or recollect where I was, the "Dreadnought"
seemed suddenly alive with people, some shouting, some cheering, while the loud bell at the pierhead close by mingled its harsh voice with the roar of the storm.
"Stand by--cut away there!" shouted a hoa.r.s.e voice from the boat. Then it flashed across me! The "Dreadnought" was putting out in this fearful storm to some wreck, and--horrors!--Jack and I were in her!
"Wait, I say, wait! Jack and I are here. Let us out!" I cried.
In the noise, and darkness, and confusion, not even the nearest man noticed me as I sprang up with this terrified shout.
I shook Jack wildly and shouted again, trying at the same time to make my way to the stern of the boat.
But before I had crossed the first bench, before the two men seated there with oars up, ready for the launch, perceived us, there was a cheer from the jetty, the great boat gave a little jolt and then began to slide, slowly at first, but gaining speed as she went on, and I knew she was off.
That short, swift descent seemed to me like an eternity. The lights on the jetty went out, the cheers were drowned, and--
A rough hand caught me where I stood half across the bench and drove me back down beside Jack, who was yet too dazed to stir. Next instant with a rush and a roar we plunged into the tempest, and all was blackness!
It seemed to me as if that first plunge was to be the last for the gallant boat and all in her. The bows under which we crouched, clinging for dear life to a ring on the floor, were completely submerged. The water rushed over us and around us, nearly stunning us with its violence and deafening us with its noise.
But presently we rose suddenly, and the boat shot up till it seemed to stand on end, so that, where we sat, we could see every inch of it from stem to stern, and the dim outline of Kingstairs jetty behind. At the same moment the ten oars dropped into their rowlocks, the c.o.xswain, with his sou"-wester pulled down tight on his head, and a hand raised to screen his eyes from the sleet, shouted something--the boat soared wildly up the wave, and once again all was darkness for us.
How the brave boat ever got through that first half-mile of surf is a mystery to me. Every wave seemed as though it would pitch it like a plaything across to the next. Now we shot up till we looked down on the c.o.xswain below us as from the top of a mast, and next instant we looked up at him till it seemed a marvel how he held to his place, and did not drop on to us. All the while the men tugged doggedly at the oars, heeding neither the waves that broke over them and flooded the boat, nor the surf that often nearly knocked the oars from their hands.
And what of Jack and me? We crouched there, close together, clutching fast at the friendly ring, looking out in mute terror on to this fearful scene, too stupefied to speak, or move, or almost to think. Had any one seen us? or had the hand which drove me down at the launch saved me from my danger by accident? I began to think this must be so, when the man nearest us, whom even in his cork jacket and sou"-wester I recognised as the hero of the shark story in the "look-out," turned towards us.
He was not one of the rowers, but had been busily drawing in and coiling a line close beside us during those first terrific plunges of the boat after she had taken the water. But now he turned hurriedly to where we sat, and without a word seized me roughly by the arm and drew me to my feet. I made sure I was to be cast overboard like Jonah into that fearful sea. But no. All he did was to throw a cork jacket round me, and then thrust me down again to my old place, just as a great wave broke over the prows and seemed almost to fill the boat. As soon as this had pa.s.sed and the water swirled out from the boat, he seized Jack and equipped him in the same way. Then throwing a tarpaulin coat over us, he left us to ourselves, while he mounted his watch in the bows and kept a look-out ahead.
The cork jackets, if of no other use, helped to warm us a bit, as also did the coat, and thankful for the comfort, however small, we settled down to see the end of our adventure and hope for the best.
Settled down, did I say? How could any one settle down in an open boat on a sea like that, with every wave breaking over our heads and half drowning us, and each moment finding the boat standing nearly perpendicular either on its stem or its stern? How the rowers kept their seats and, still more, held on to their oars and pulled through the waves, I can still scarcely imagine. But for the friendly ring on to which Jack and I held like grim death, I am certain we should have been pitched out of the boat at her first lurch.
The "Dreadnought" ploughed on. Not a word was spoken save an occasional shout between the c.o.xswain and our friend in the bows as to our course.
I could see by the receding lights of Kingstairs, which came into sight every time we mounted to the top of a wave, that we were not taking a straight course out, but bearing north, right in the teeth of the wind; and I knew enough of boats, I remember, to wonder with a shudder what would happen if we should chance to get broadside on to one of these waves. Presently the man by us shouted--"You"re right now. Bill!"
The c.o.xswain gave some word of command, and we seemed to come suddenly into less broken water. The men shipped their oars, and springing to their feet, as if by one motion, hoisted a mast and unfurled a triangular sail.
For a moment the flapping of the canvas half deafened us. Then suddenly it steadied, and next minute the boat heeled over, gunwale down on the water, and began to hiss through the waves at a tremendous speed.
"Pa.s.s them younkers down here!" shouted Bill, when this manoeuvre had been executed.
Jack and I were accordingly sent crawling down to the stern under the benches, and presented ourselves in a pitiable condition before the c.o.xswain.