by Various
XII
A WEEK-END ADVENTURE
For several years it has been my habit to spend my week-ends during thesummer and autumn months in a small yacht called the _Thelma_, of aboutfive tons, as a welcome change from the confined life of the City.
Many and many a happy, lazy time have I spent in her, sometimes bymyself, at others with a companion, at various delightful spots roundour eastern and southern coasts, occasionally taking short cruises alongthe seaboard, but more often lounging about harbours and estuaries, oreven exploring inland waters.
On these occasions many little incidents and adventures have occurred,which, though full of interest to any one fond of yachting, yet arehardly worthy of print, and it was not until about a year and a half agothat the following events took place, and seemed to me of sufficientinterest to record.
The _Thelma_ was at the time at an anchorage in one of my favouritespots, a somewhat lonely East-coast estuary, within easy reach of theopen sea, and, more important still in a way, fairly close to amain-line railway-station, so that I could get to her from town withoutwasting much of my precious time on the way. I had run down late on aFriday night early in September, rejoicing, as only a hard-worked Cityman can rejoice, in the thought of a good forty-eight hours of freedomand fresh air. I was alone, as my exit from town was rather unexpected,and I had no time to find a friend to keep me company; but that did notworry me, as I felt fully able to enjoy myself in solitary peace.
I found everything prepared for my arrival, having wired to thelongshoreman and his wife, in whose charge I had left the yacht, and Ishould much like to describe in full detail all my enjoyment, but mustpass over the little events of my first day--the Saturday--as they havenothing to do with my "adventure," though to me the day was brimful ofthorough happiness.
It was one of those splendid bright days which are happily so frequenton the East coast in September--so calm, indeed, that sailing was out ofthe question, and I spent my time in the small boat or dinghy out in theopen sea a mile or more, fishing in an indolent way for whiting, etc.,and basking in the sun.
I saw no one all day, and there was little shipping about. A privatewherry anchored opposite the village above the _Thelma_ was the onlycraft in the river, and a few trawlers and coasting steamers far outwere the only vessels to be seen at sea.
Nothing could have less suggested the likelihood of anything in theshape of "adventure," and I caught my whiting and dabs in blissful peaceof mind.
About four o'clock in the afternoon, however, I was roused from myfishing by feeling the air suddenly begin to get chill, and on lookingout to sea saw that a breeze was springing up from the eastward, andbringing with it a bank of thick white sea-fog, which had alreadyblotted out the horizon, and was coming in rapidly.
This meant rowing home as quickly as possible, as I did not want to becaught in the "thick" before reaching my temporary home, as it mightmean an hour or two's search for such a small yacht in a half-mile wideestuary.
So, hastily laying aside my fishing-tackle and hauling up the littleanchor, I put my back into the task of "racing the fog," feelingintensely thankful that the tide was on the flood, and, therefore, animmense help to me.
Even as it was, I was in a glowing heat by the time I reached the_Thelma_, and only just in time at that, as the first chilly wreaths ofmist were closing round me by the time I got on board. When all was"snug," and I was ready to go below into my little cabin for tea, a lastglance round showed me that already the low hills on each side of theriver were blotted out, and I could hardly distinguish the wherryanchored away up above me, or the houses of the village off which shelay.
Oh, how cosy and bright the little cabin looked when I settled down fora nondescript meal, half-tea, half-dinner, about an hour later!
The lamp, hung from the deck above, gave a mellow light, the kettle sangon the stove, and the fresh-caught whiting were simply delicious (Ipride myself on my cooking on these occasions), whilst London, work, andmy fellow-beings seemed far away in some other sphere.
This feeling of isolation was considerably increased later on, when,after a hearty meal and a dip into a story, I put my head out of thehatch to take a customary "last look round" before turning in.
I suppose it was about 10 p.m.; there was no moon, and I never remembera denser fog. At first, after the lighted cabin, I could distinguishabsolutely nothing, except where the beam of light from the cabin lampstruggled past me through the open hatch into a white thickness which Ican only liken to vaporous cotton-wool.
Even when my eyes got a little accustomed to the change from light todarkness, I could only just make out the mizzen-mast astern and thelower part of the main-mast forward; beyond these was nothing butimpenetrable thickness.
Not a sound reached me, except the mournful muffled hooting of asteamer's syren at intervals; no doubt some wretched collier, nosing herway at half-speed through the fog, in momentary terror of collision.
I don't think I ever felt so cut off from humanity in my life as in thattiny yacht, surrounded as I was by impenetrable density above andaround, and the deep rushing tide below in a lonely water-way.
No doubt this eerie feeling of loneliness had a great deal to do with mysensations later on, which, on looking back in after-days, have oftenstruck me as being more acute and nervous than they had any right to be.
Be that as it may, I was not nervous when I closed the hatch and "turnedin," for I recollect congratulating myself that I was in a safeanchorage, out of the way of traffic, and not on board the steamer whichI had heard so mournfully making known her whereabouts in the open sea.
I think my "nerves" had their first real unsettling about half an hourafterwards, just as I was sinking off into a peaceful, profound slumber,for it seemed to me that I had been roused by a sound like a scream ofpain or fear, coming muffled and distant through the fog; but from whatdirection, whether up or down the river, or from the shore, I could nottell.
I raised myself on my elbow and listened intently, but heard nothingmore, and reflecting that, even if what I had heard was more than fancy,I was helpless, shut in on every hand by impenetrable fog, to renderaid; I could do no more than utter a fervent hope, amounting to aprayer, that no poor soul had strayed into the water on such a night. Itis easy, too, when roused out of a doze, to imagine one has only_fancied_ a thing, and I had soon persuaded myself that what I hadheard was no more than the shriek of a syren or cry of a disturbedsea-gull, and sank once more into a doze, which this time merged intothat solid sleep which comes to those who have had a long day insea-air.
Somewhere in that vague period we are apt to call "the middle of thenight," and which may mean any time between our falling asleep anddaybreak, I dreamt that I was in bed in my London lodgings, that a chumof mine had come in to arouse me, and to do so had gently kicked thebedpost, sending a jarring sensation up my spine.
At first I was merely angry, and only stirred in my sleep; but he did itagain, and I awoke, intending to administer a scathing rebuke to thedisturber of my peace.
But I awoke on board the _Thelma_, and realised, with a feeling akin toalarm, that the sensation of "jarring" had been real, and the knockingwhich caused it came from something or _some one outside the boat_.
At first I could hardly believe my senses, and raised myself on myelbow, my whole being strained as it were into the one faculty forlistening.
Again, this time close to my head, against the starboard bulkhead, camethe sound, like two gentle "thuds" on the planking, causing a distincttremor to thrill through the yacht.
I cannot imagine any more "eerie" sensation than to go to sleep as I haddone, with a profound sense of isolation and loneliness, cut off fromhumanity by a waste of fog and darkness and far-stretching water, and tobe awakened in the dead of night by the startling knowledge that outsidethere, in that very loneliness, only divided from my little cabin by athin planking--was _something_--and that something not shouting as anyhuman being would shout at such a time--but _knocki
ng_--as if wishing tobe let in to warmth and comfort, out of the chill and darkness.
Can I be blamed if my suddenly aroused and somewhat bemused sensesplayed tricks with me, and my startled imagination began to conjure upthe gruesome stories I had heard of weird visitants, and ghostly beings,heard but seldom seen, on the East Anglian meres and broads? Then againcame the remembrance of the shriek or cry I had fancied I heard earlierin the night, and with a shudder I thought: "How ghastly if it should bethe drowned body of him whose cry I had heard, knocking thus in grislyfashion to be taken in before the tide carried it away to sea!"
So far had my excited imagination carried me, when again the yacht shookwith the thud of something striking her, and a great revulsion of reliefcame over me as I recognised the dull sound of wood striking wood, thistime farther aft, and I laughed aloud at my cowardice.
No doubt a log of driftwood, bumping its way along the side of theyacht, as logs will, as the ebbing tide carried it seawards.
However, by this time I had lighted the lamp; so, to satisfy my stillperturbed though much ashamed mind, I thrust my feet into sea-boots andmy body into a pea-jacket over my clothes, and went on deck, lamp inhand, to see what my unwelcome visitor really was.
Through the mist, dimly illumined by the lamp, I made out the shadowyoutline of a boat, drifting slowly towards the stern of the yacht, andoccasionally bumping gently against her side.
Another moment or two and the derelict would have vanished into thenight. But the long boathook lay at my feet along the bulwark, and,almost instinctively, I caught it up with one hand, whilst setting thelamp down with the other, ran to the stern and made a wild grab in thedark towards where I thought she would be.
The hook caught, and I hauled my prize alongside; stooping down, I feltfor the painter, which I naturally expected to find trailing in thewater, thinking the boat had broken loose from somewhere throughcarelessness in making her fast.
To my surprise it was coiled up _inside_ the bows. Puzzling over this, Imade the end fast to a cleat on the yacht, then took the lamp and turnedthe light over the side, so that it shone fairly into the boat.
Then, for the second time that night, my pulses beat fast, and my scalptingled with something approaching fear, and I wished I had a friend onboard with me.
It seemed as if my foolish idea of a dead body asking for compassionwas coming true. For there was a huddled-up form lying on the bottom ofthe boat, its head inclined half on and half off the stern thwart, itswhole attitude suggestive of the helplessness of death.
I stood as if paralysed for a few seconds, filled with a craven longingto get back to the cosy cabin, shut the hatch, and wait till daylightbefore approaching any nearer that still form, dreading what horrors anexamination might reveal. But more humane and reasonable thoughts sooncame; perhaps this poor drifting bit of humanity was not dead, but hadbeen sent my way in the dead of night to revive and shelter.
Feeling that I must act at once, or I might not act at all--or at leasttill daybreak--I put a great restraint upon my feelings of repugnance,caught up the lamp, stepped into the boat, and raised the drooping headon to my arm.
As I did so, the hood-like covering which had concealed the face fellback, and in a moment all my shrinking and horror vanished once forall--swallowed up in pity, compassion, and amazement--for on my armrested the sweet face of a young and very pretty girl, marred only byits pallor and a bad bruise on the right temple.
Even in the lamplight I could see she was a lady born and bred; her facealone told me that, and the rich material of fur-lined cloak and hoodmerely confirmed it.
Here was no horrible midnight visitor, then; but certainly what seemedto me a great mystery--far more so than the dead body of labourer orwherry-man floating down with the tide would have furnished.
A lady, insensible apparently from a blow on the forehead, floatingalone in an open boat at midnight, on a lonely tidal water, far from anyresort of the class to which she seemed to belong, and saved from longhours of exposure--perhaps death--by the marvellous chance (if it couldbe called so) of colliding with my yacht on the way to the open sea.
It was too great a puzzle to attempt to solve on the spur of the moment,and I had first to apply myself to the evident duty of getting my fairand mysterious visitor into my cabin, there to try to undo the effectsof whatever untoward accidents had befallen her.
It was no easy matter, single-handed and in darkness, except for thehazy beam of light from the lamp on deck, to get her from the swinging,lurching boat to the yacht. But, luckily for me, my burden was light andslender, and I did it without mishap, I hardly know how, and then soonhad her in the little cabin, laid carefully upon my blankets and rugs,with a pillow under her head.
I soon knew she was alive, for there was a distinct, though slight, riseand fall of her bosom as she breathed, but my difficulty was to knowwhat remedies to apply. I have a little experience in resuscitating thehalf-drowned, but in this case insensibility seemed to have been causedby the blow on her forehead, if it was not from shock or fear.
So all I could do was to force a few drops of brandy between the whiteteeth, and bathe the forehead patiently, and hope that nature would soonreassert itself with these aids.
After what seemed a long while to me, but which I suppose was not morethan a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes, one of the little whitehands moved, a deep sigh came from the lips, and I thought she was"coming to."
But it was merely a change from one state of insensibility to another;for, though a colour came back into the cheeks and the breathing grewstronger and more regular, the warmth of the cabin had its effect, andshe sank into a natural and peaceful sleep.
My greatest anxiety being now relieved, and my fair young visitorrestored to animation and resting peacefully enough, my mind naturallyturned to the consideration of the strange position I was sounexpectedly placed in; but in my state of absolute ignorance as to theidentity of my charge, where she came from, what had happened, and ofthe whole chain of circumstances which led up to her strange visit, Icame to the conclusion that I could only wait for her to awake andenlighten me before taking any steps whatever. It might mean losingvaluable time to try to find out anything by going off in the fog anddarkness; whilst, meanwhile, the poor girl might awake and find herselfdeserted, instead of finding me ready and waiting to take herinstructions for her safe restoration to her friends.
So there was nothing for me to do but wait, and having made up the firein the stove and put the kettle on in readiness for a cup of tea, I mademyself as comfortable as I could in a corner and longed for daylight.
As I watched the face of the sleeping girl, now rather flushed from thewarmth of the cabin and the unaccustomed drops of spirit I had givenher, I thought I had never before seen a fairer and sweeter countenance,and even then began to bless the chance which had allowed me to becomeher protector.
Once she stirred, and a look of dread, almost terror, came into herface, and I heard her utter in an agonised voice the single word"Harold."
It may sound ridiculous, but, coming so soon after my feelings of tender"protectiveness," I felt quite a pang of jealousy against the unknownowner of the name, and wondered in what relation she stood to him andwhy her thought of him should bring such evident pain. However, she didnot awake as yet, and I had to possess my soul in patience for this andall the other enlightenment I longed for.
I must have slept at last, for the next thing I remember was seeing afaint daylight struggling through the skylight and realising that thefire was nearly out, in spite of my resolve to keep a watch over it. Inmaking it up I clumsily dropped a lump of coal, and the girl stirred,opened her eyes, and sat up at once, evidently refreshed by her sleepand in full possession of all her faculties, and, of course, utterlybewildered at her surroundings and at finding a perfect stranger incharge of her.
It made my heart ache to see, as memory came back and she recalled the(to me unknown) events of the night, a cloud of dread and anxiety comeover her, a
nd her eyes fill with tears at the recollection; and if I hadfelt drawn to her before, I was doubly so now, when I saw her bravelybrace herself to talk of them, and even smile up at me as she said--
"Will you tell me where I am, and how I got here? It seems to me I havea lot to thank you for!"
I told her as briefly as I could the happenings of the night as far as Iknew them, and then said--
"Now I am burning to hear your adventures, and longing to help you toget back to your friends; but I beg of you not to tell me more than youfeel inclined, nor to put any strain on yourself at present, but justtell me sufficient for me to know how to act for you."
She assured me she felt quite well, except for a headache (whichcertainly was only to be expected with such a bruise on her poor whiteforehead), and would like to tell me everything, as it would be a reliefto her mind to do so, and with the most charming little blush sheadded--
"I feel so sure you will know just what is best to be done, and Ishould like to confide my fears to you."
So, whilst I busied myself in getting a sort of hasty breakfast ready,partly because we both needed it, but more for the sake of making iteasier for her to speak of things which might be painful for her tomention with my eyes upon her, she told me all, and it was quite amazinghow simply everything was explained.
Her name--which she mentioned no doubt because I had carefully told hermine--was Lilian Burfield, and she and her brother Harold (I feltfoolishly relieved to hear it was her _brother's_ name she had called onin her sleep) lived with their father at a large house some three milesfrom the village up the river. A day or two before these events, somefriends of theirs, a Mr. and Mrs. Small, had brought their wherry up theriver to visit them, whilst on a cruise. On the Friday they had spentthe afternoon on board, and she and her brother had been induced to stayto dinner, and play a game or two afterwards; but her father had beenobliged to leave earlier on account of some engagement.
About 10.30 they left (although the Smalls pressed them to stop on boardall night when they saw how thick the fog had become), feeling confidentthat they could not well miss the landing-stage, as it was not more thana hundred yards from the yacht.
However, it seemed that they _had_ done so, as the boat took the groundon a mud-bank, and stuck fast.
Her brother was unable to push off, and asked her to help, so she stoodup and, with the other oar, moved to assist him. The shifting of herweight must have loosened the boat, as at that very moment her brothergave a shove and they shot off the mud with a lurch, sending her withgreat violence into the bottom of the boat and stunning her.
As she fell (and here I heard a break in the low, sweet voice which wastelling me the tale) she remembered seeing her brother disappearoverboard, upset by the sudden movement of the boat beneath him, andbelieved she gave a cry at the sight; but knew no more till she awakenedin the cabin of the _Thelma_.
The simple narrative ceased, and I wondered that when trying to puzzleout where she could have come from, I had never thought to connect thewherry I had seen in the morning with my visitor's sudden appearance.
How marvellous it seemed, though, that the boat with its helplessfreight should have been carried by the ebbing tide straight into mycare, and how deeply thankful I was that it had been so ordered, savingthe poor girl from a terrible, lonely drift out to sea, from many hours'exposure, perhaps from being run down by a passing vessel, certainlyfrom grave danger in many ways!
Now I could see my way at last as to my next move, and hastened toassure my anxious visitor that I had little fear for her brother'ssafety, as I knew there were no mudbanks in that part of the riverexcept those along the edge of the shore, and therefore he would almostcertainly have been able to scramble out.
There were still one or two things I did not quite understand, however,so, whilst we ate a fairly hearty meal off the remainder of my whiting,I plied her with a question or two, and by-and-by we got very friendlyand cheerful, and I quite disliked the idea of going out into the mistymorning to make arrangements for giving up my fair and charming visitor.
As for Miss Burfield (as I now must call her), her spirits rose with myhopeful words, and as the food had its effect on her physically.
But in my mind was a sinister fear, which I carefully kept from her.
I had heard no shouts, no sound of any search, either in the night norsince daybreak, which seemed strange; and it had occurred to me that_if_ the young fellow had been drowned this would be explained, forthose on the wherry might know nothing, thinking their visitors hadreached the shore, while those ashore might think they had stoppedovernight on board on account of the fog, and so no search would bemade, no alarm taken.
I asked whose was the boat they were in and which I had secured,wondering if it would be missed.
"It belonged to a man in the village," she said. "We borrowed it becausethe man who works the wherry for the Smalls was away for the night, andwe thought we would save Mr. Small the trouble of rowing us ashore solate at night in his own boat."
"Was the owner waiting up for you to bring the boat back?" I asked.
"No, we promised to tie it up safely, so that he need not worry aboutit," she answered.
So, there again, they would not be missed till the man failed to findhis boat, which might not be for hours yet. It seemed to me that I mighthave the terrible duty of breaking the bad news of the loss of the youngman, instead of, as I had thought, the good tidings of the finding ofthe lost girl.
But that remained to be proved, and I could only hope for the best.
In any case my duty was now plain, and with a few cheering words to mycompanion, telling her that I was going to the village to report hersafety, and to send a messenger to her home that they might come andfetch her, and would be back as soon as possible with (I hoped) the goodnews of her brother's safety, I set off, early as it was, and rowedmyself ashore in the dinghy. I was glad to see that the fog was thinningeven then, and by the time I had landed and run along the towing-path tothe village, the sun was just visible through the haze, giving everyhope of a lovely day.
With mingled feelings of dread and hope I approached the scatteredhouses of the little hamlet, half fearing to see groups of men by theriver-side searching for some gruesome object, and, again, when allseemed still and peaceful, fearing that the absence of movement mightmean the very thing I dreaded--namely, that the catastrophe hadhappened, and no one any the wiser.
There lay the wherry, without sight or sound of any living person onboard; no one was moving in the little straggling street; not a dogbarked.
I went straight to the old inn, which stood about a hundred yards fromthe landing-stage, opposite the wherry's anchorage, and knocked loudlyat the door. No one answered, so I tried the latch, the door opened tomy hand, and I walked into the brick-floored bar, and at first thoughtit was empty.
Then I heard a slight movement and the sound of a yawn, and, lookingtowards the large settle by the side of the hearth, saw my oldacquaintance, the innkeeper, evidently aroused by my knocking from asound sleep, rubbing his eyes and stiffly getting to his feet.
Much astonished he looked when he saw who his visitor was, as he did notknow I had come down to the yacht, and certainly was not accustomed tosuch early rising on my part.
His first words gave me a cold feeling of apprehension, for onrecognising me he said--
"Oh, sir, I am glad you are here; perhaps you will be able to help us inthis dreadful business."
"What dreadful business?" I said, sharply enough, for I feared hisanswer, and dared not ask a more direct question, for the thought ofthe sweet girl I had left behind in the _Thelma_, and the news itseemed I was to take back to her, was almost too much for me.
"Dear, dear, haven't you heard, sir?" went on the old man, thoroughlyawake now in his eagerness to impart the news. "There's that poor, dearMiss Burfield, the sweetest young lady as ever I knew, gone floatingdown the river last night in the fog all alone, and goodness knows whathas become of her, poor dea
r, by now--and her young brother, too, wetthrough as he was, gone off with the gentleman from yonder wherry in aboat to look for her, hours ago--and a poor chance of finding her, _I_say, till the fog blows off, even if they don't lose themselves as wellas her. And the poor old squire, too, he be in a dreadful way, andsendin' messengers to all the coastguards for miles, he is, to look outfor the lady----"
Here the old man paused for want of breath, and I--completely relievedby his rambling statement from my fear about the girl's brother,hastened to relieve him with my astonishing news that Miss Burfield wassafe and sound in my yacht, and had been so for some hours.
Eager as I was to get back to the _Thelma_ with my good news, I couldnot get away till I had told the good old fellow how it had happenedthat I had rescued her, and he in return told me how young Burfield hadrushed, muddy and dripping, into the inn as they were all going to bed,and demanded help in the search for his sister. No boat was to be had atthe moment, and so they had shouted till Mr. Small came ashore in hisown boat, and had at once rowed away with young Burfield down the river,in the thick darkness, with the faint hope of finding the missing girlbefore she drifted into the open sea.
"I told 'em it warn't much good," ended the old man, "and that they'dbest wait till daylight, but they would go. As for me, I reckon I'vedone the best thing, for I druv' over at once to the coastguards downyonder, and told 'em to keep a look out at the mouth o' the river. Iain't been back long, and was just takin' a nap when you found me, as Ihadn't the 'art to go to bed."
Having arranged with him to send the good news to all concerned,especially to the Hall, where old Mr. Burfield must doubtless be in aterrible state of anxiety, I hurried back along the towing-path,rejoicing in the thought that I should now be able to relieve my fairvisitor's mind of her anxiety.
I found her on deck, looking anxious, indeed, but so pretty and fresh inspite of her trying night's experiences, that my impressions of thenight were greatly intensified, and I began to bless the unusualcircumstances that had brought us together and made us friends, as itwere, from the first moment of our acquaintance; and I registered amental vow that the bond thus created between us should never be broken,if it lay in my power to prevent it.
And when I had told her the good news, and we had at last an opportunityof friendly converse unclouded by forebodings and anxious thoughts, Ifor one thoroughly enjoyed the companionship, and allowed myself to hopethat it was not altogether disagreeable to my charming visitor.
It did not seem long, therefore, to me before the arrival of Mr.Burfield, who overwhelmed me with far more thanks and gratitude than Ideserved, and insisted on my spending the rest of that week-end at theHall--an invitation backed up in irresistible fashion by his daughter.To complete the general satisfaction, whilst we were talking we heardthe sound of oars, and saw a boat approaching, containing two of themost weary and dispirited-looking men I ever saw.
They proved to be Mr. Small and Mr. Harold Burfield, returning dead-beatand miserable after a fruitless and wretched search for the missingboat, to get food and to make arrangements for a further expedition. Howcan I describe their intense relief and astonishment when--summoned by amighty shout--they pulled to shore, and saw the girl they imagineddrifting helplessly miles out at sea standing on shore, safe and sound,and in infinitely better case than themselves, and heard that she hadnever been farther than where she now was from the scene of the accidentthe night before?
Later on I asked Harold Burfield why he had not shouted as he rowed downthe river after his sister in the darkness, when I might have heard andanswered.
He said that at first he thought it no use, as he knew his sister'sboat must have had a long start of them; and later, when they had rowedsome way, and considered they must have caught up with it, they had doneso at intervals all night long, on the chance of her hearing.
So I suppose that, either they were past the _Thelma_ before they beganto call, or else in the fog had got so far over on the other side of thechannel that their voices had not reached me, as I was shut up in mycabin.
So all the little mysteries were cleared up, and everything had "comeright in the end," as such things should.
I have spent many a happy week-end since then at the Hall and on boardthe _Thelma_, and to my dying day I shall bless the fog of thatSeptember night, for Lilian has promised shortly to fix the day of ourwedding, and we have both decided that part of the honeymoon at least isto be spent on board the _Thelma_; and I really believe that we shallboth be rather disappointed if we do not get a bit of foggy weather toremind us how we first made each other's acquaintance, and made friendsover "whiting and tea" in the little cabin at six o'clock in themorning.
