The G.A. Henty

by G. A. Henty

  “Here, Ruthven, you take a spell now,” he said.

  Although the rowers had from time to time glanced over their shoulders, they could not, through the mist, form any idea of their position. When Ruthven took the helm he exclaimed, “Good gracious, Frank! the shore is hardly visible. We are being blown out to sea.”

  “I am afraid we are,” Frank said; “but there is nothing to do but to keep on rowing. The wind may lull or it may shift and give us a chance of making for Ramsgate. The boat is a good sea boat, and may keep afloat even if we are driven out to sea. Or if we are missed from shore they may send the lifeboat out after us. That is our best chance.”

  In another quarter of an hour Ruthven was ready to take another spell at the oar. “I fear,” Frank shouted to him as he climbed over the seat, “there is no chance whatever of making shore. All we’ve got to do is to row steadily and keep her head dead to wind. Two of us will do for that. You and I will row now, and let Handcock and Jones steer and rest by turns. Then when we are done up they can take our places.”

  In another hour it was quite dark, save for the gray light from the foaming water around. The wind was blowing stronger than ever, and it required the greatest care on the part of the steersman to keep her dead in the eye of the wind. Handcock was steering now, and Jones lying at the bottom of the boat, where he was sheltered, at least from the wind. All the lads were plucky fellows and kept up a semblance of good spirits, but all in their hearts knew that their position was a desperate one.

  CHAPTER II

  A MAD DOG

  “Don’t you think, Hargate,” Ruthven shouted in his ear, “we had better run before it? It’s as much as Handcock can do to keep her head straight.”

  “Yes,” Frank shouted back, “if it were not for the Goodwins. They lie right across ahead of us.”

  Ruthven said no more, and for another hour he and Frank rowed their hardest. Then Handcock and Jones took the oars. Ruthven lay down in the bottom of the boat and Frank steered. After rowing for another hour Frank found that he could no longer keep the boat head to wind. Indeed, he could not have done so for so long had he not shipped the rudder and steered the boat with an oar, through a notch cut in the stern for the purpose. Already the boat shipped several heavy seas, and Ruthven was kept hard at work baling with a tin can in which they had brought out bait.

  “Ruthven, we must let her run. Put out the other oar, we must watch our time. Row hard when I give the word.”

  The maneuver was safely accomplished, and in a minute the boat was flying before the gale.

  “Keep on rowing,” Frank said, “but take it easily. We must try and make for the tail of the sands. I can see the lightship.”

  Frank soon found that the wind was blowing too directly upon the long line of sands to enable him to make the lightship. Already, far ahead, a gray light seemed to gleam up, marking where the sea was breaking over the dreaded shoal.

  “I am afraid it is no use,” he said. “Now, boys, we had best, each of us, say our prayers to God, and prepare to die bravely, for I fear that there is no hope for us.”

  There was silence in the boat for the next five minutes, as the boys sat with their heads bent down. More than one choking sob might have been heard, had the wind lulled, as they thought of the dear ones at home. Suddenly there was a flash of light ahead, and the boom of a gun directly afterwards came upon their ears. Then a rocket soared up into the air.

  “There is a vessel on the sands,” Frank exclaimed. “Let us make for her. If we can get on board we shall have a better chance than here.”

  The boys again bent to their oars, and Frank tried to steer exactly for the spot whence the rocket had gone up. Presently another gun flashed out.

  “There she is,” he said. “I can see her now against the line of breakers. Take the oar again, Ruthven. We must bring up under shelter of her lee.”

  In another minute or two they were within a hundred yards of the ship. She was a large vessel, and lay just at the edge of the broken water. The waves, as they struck her, flew high above her deck. As the boat neared her a bright light suddenly sprang up. The ship was burning a blue light. Then a faint cheer was heard.

  “They see us,” Frank said. “They must think we are the lifeboat. What a disappointment for them! Now, steady, lads, and prepare to pull her round the instant we are under her stern. I will go as near as I dare.”

  Frank could see the people on deck watching the boat. They must have seen now that she was not the lifeboat; but even in their own danger they must have watched with intense interest the efforts of the tiny boat, adrift in the raging sea, to reach them. Frank steered the boat within a few yards of the stern. Then Jones and Ruthven, who were both rowing the same side, exerted themselves to the utmost, while Frank pushed with the steering oar. A minute later, and they lay in comparatively still water, under the lee of the ship. Two or three ropes were thrown them, and they speedily climbed on board.

  “We thought you were the lifeboat at first,” the captain said, as they reached the deck; “but, of course, they cannot be here for a couple of hours yet.”

  “We were blown off shore, sir,” Frank said, “and have been rowing against the wind for hours.”

  “Well, my lads,” the captain said, “you have only prolonged your lives for a few minutes, for she will not hold together long.”

  The ship, indeed, presented a pitiable appearance. The masts had already gone, the bulwark to windward had been carried away, and the hull lay heeled over at a sharp angle, her deck to leeward being level with the water. The crew were huddled down near the lee bulwarks, sheltered somewhat by the sharp slope of the deck from the force of the wind. As each wave broke over the ship, tons of water rushed down upon them. No more guns were fired, for the lashing had broken and the gun run down to leeward. Already there were signs that the ship would break up ere long, and no hope existed that rescue could arrive in time.

  Suddenly there was a great crash, and the vessel parted amidships.

  “A few minutes will settle it now,” the captain said. “God help us all.”

  At this moment there was a shout to leeward, which was answered by a scream of joy from those on board the wreck, for there, close alongside, lay the lifeboat, whose approach had been entirely unseen. In a few minutes the fifteen men who remained of the twenty-two, who had formed the crew of the wreck, and the four boys, were on board her. A tiny sail was set and the boat’s head laid towards Ramsgate.

  “I am glad to see you, Master Hargate,” the sailor who rowed one of the stroke oars shouted. He was the man who had lent them the boat. “I was up in the town looking after my wife, who is sick, and clean forgot you till it was dark. Then I ran down and found the boat hadn’t returned, so I got the crew together and we came out to look for you, though we had little hope of finding you. It was lucky for you we did, and for the rest of them too, for so it chanced that we were but half a mile away when the ship fired her first gun, just as we had given you up and determined to go back; so on we came straight here. Another ten minutes and we should have been too late. We are making for Ramsgate now. We could never beat back to Deal in this wind. I don’t know as I ever saw it blow much harder.”

  These sentences were not spoken consecutively, but were shouted out in the intervals between gusts of wind. It took them two hours to beat back to Ramsgate, a signal having been made as soon as they left the wreck to inform the lifeboat there and at Broadstairs that they need not put out, as the rescue had been already effected. The lads were soon put to bed at the sailors’ home, a man being at once despatched on horseback to Deal, to inform those there of the arrival of the lifeboat, and of the rescue of the four boys who had been blown to sea.

  Early next morning Frank and Handcock returned to Deal, the other two lads being so exhausted by their fatigue and exposure that the doctor said they had better remain in bed for another twenty-four hours.

  It is impossible to describe the thankfulness and relief which Mrs. Hargate
experienced, when, about two in the morning, Dr. Parker himself brought her news of the safety of her boy. She had long given up all hope, for when the evening came on and Frank had not returned, she had gone down to the shore. She learned from the fishermen there that it was deemed impossible that the boys could reach shore in face of the gale, and that although the lifeboat had just put out in search of them, the chances of their being found were, as she herself saw, faint indeed. She had passed the hours which had intervened, in prayer, and was still kneeling by her bedside, where little Lucy was unconsciously sleeping, when Dr. Parker’s knock was heard at the door. Fervent, indeed, was her gratitude to God for the almost miraculous preservation of her son’s life, and then, overcome by the emotions she had experienced, she sought her couch, and was still asleep when, by the earliest train in the morning, Frank returned.

  For some time the four boys were the heroes of the school. A subscription was got up to pay for the lost boat, and close as were Mrs. Hargate’s means, she enabled Frank to subscribe his share towards the fund. The incident raised Frank to a pinnacle of popularity among his schoolfellows, for the three others were unanimous in saying that it was his coolness and skill in the management of the boat, which alone kept up their spirits, and enabled them to keep her afloat during the gale, and to make the wreck in safety.

  In the general enthusiasm excited by the event, Frank’s pursuits, which had hitherto found few followers, now became quite popular in the school. A field club was formed, of which he was elected president, and long rambles in the country in search of insects and plants were frequently organized. Frank himself was obliged, in the interests of the school, to moderate the zeal of the naturalists, and to point out that cricket must not be given up, as, if so large a number withdrew themselves from the game, the school would suffer disaster in its various engagements with other schools in the neighborhood. Consequently the rule was made that members of the club were bound to be in the cricket field on at least three days in the week, including one half holiday, while they were free to ramble in the country on other days. This wise regulation prevented the “naturalists” from becoming unpopular in the school, which would assuredly have been the case had they entirely absented themselves from cricket.

  One Saturday afternoon Frank started with a smaller boy, who was one of his most devoted followers, for a long country walk. Frank carried his blowgun, and a butterfly net, Charlie Goodall a net of about a foot in depth, made of canvas, mounted on a stout brass rim, and strong stick, for the capture of water beetles. Their pockets bulged with bottles and tin boxes for the carriage of their captured prey.

  They had passed through Eastry, a village four miles from Deal, when Frank exclaimed, “There is a green hairstreak. The first I’ve seen this year. I have never caught one before.”

  Cautiously approaching the butterfly, who was sunning himself on the top of a thistle, Frank prepared to strike, when it suddenly mounted and flitted over a hedge. In a moment the boys had scrambled through the gap and were in full pursuit. The butterfly flitted here and there, sometimes allowing the boys to approach within a few feet and then flitting away again for fifty yards without stopping. Heedless where they were going, the boys pursued, till they were startled by a sudden shout close to them.

  “You young rascals, how dare you run over my wheat?”

  The boys stopped, and Frank saw what, in his excitement, he had not hitherto heeded, that he was now running in a field of wheat, which reached to his knee.

  “I am very sorry, sir,” he said. “I was so excited than I really did not see where I was going.”

  “Not see!” shouted the angry farmer. “You young rascal, I’ll break every bone in your body,” and he flourished a heavy stick as he spoke.

  Charlie Goodall began to cry.

  “I have no right to trespass on your wheat, sir,” Frank said firmly; “but you have no right to strike us. My name is Frank Hargate. I belong to Dr. Parker’s school at Deal, and if you will say what damage I have caused, I will pay for it.”

  “You shall pay for it now,” shouted the farmer, as he advanced with uplifted stick.

  Frank slipped three or four of his clay bullets into his mouth.

  “Leave us alone or it will be worse for you,” he said as he raised the blowgun to his mouth.

  The farmer advanced, and Frank sent a bullet with all his force, and with so true an aim that he struck the farmer on the knuckles. It was a sharp blow, and the farmer, with a cry of pain and surprise, dropped the stick.

  “Don’t come a step nearer,” Frank shouted. “If you do, I will aim at your eye next time,” and he pointed the threatening tube at the enraged farmer’s face.

  “I’ll have the law of you, you young villain. I’ll make you smart for this.”

  “You can do as you like about that,” Frank said. “I have only struck you in self defense, and have let you off easily. Come along, Charlie, let’s get out of this.”

  In a few minutes they were again on the road, the farmer making no attempt to follow them, but determined in his mind to drive over the next morning to Deal to take out a summons against them for trespass and assault. The lads proceeded silently along the road. Frank was greatly vexed with himself at his carelessness in running over half grown wheat, and was meditating how he could pay the fine without having to ask his mother. He determined upon his return to carry some of his cases of stuffed birds down to a shop in the town, and he felt sure that he could get enough for these to pay for any damage which could have been inflicted, with a fine for trespassing, for he had seen stuffed birds exposed in the windows for sale, which were, he was sure, very inferior to his own both in execution and lifelike interest.

  After proceeding a few hundred yards along the road they met a pretty little girl of seven or eight years old walking along alone. Frank scarcely glanced at her, for at the moment he heard a shouting in the distance and saw some men running along the road. For a moment he thought that the farmer had despatched some of his men to stop him, but instantly dismissed the idea, as they were coming from the opposite direction and could by no possibility have heard what had happened. They were lost sight of by a dip in the road, and as they disappeared, an object was seen on the road on the near side of the dip.

  “It is a dog,” Frank said. “What can they be shouting at?”

  The dog was within fifty yards of them when the men again appeared from the dip and recommenced shouting. Frank could now hear what they said.

  “Mad dog! mad dog!”

  “Get through the hedge, Charlie, quick,” Frank cried. “Here, I will help you over, never mind the thorns.”

  The hedge was low and closely kept, and Frank, bundling his comrade over it, threw himself across and looked round. The dog was within ten yards of them, and Frank saw that the alarm was well founded. The dog was a large crossbred animal, between a mastiff and a bulldog. Its hair was rough and bristling. It came along with its head down and foam churning from its mouth. Frank looked the other way and gave a cry. Yet twenty yards off, in the middle of the road, stood the child. She, too, had heard the shouts, and had paused to see what was the matter. She had not taken the alarm, but stood unsuspicious of danger, watching, not the dog, but the men in the distance.

  Frank placed the blowgun to his mouth, and in a moment his pellet struck the animal smartly on the side of the head. It gave a short yelp and paused. Another shot struck it, and then Frank, snatching the water net from Charlie, threw himself over the hedge, and placed himself between the child and the dog just as the latter, with a savage growl, rushed at him.

  Frank stood perfectly cool, and as the animal rushed forward, thrust the net over its head; the ring was but just large enough to allow its head to enter. Frank at once sprang forward, and placing himself behind the dog kept a strain upon the stick, so retaining the mouth of the net tightly on his neck. The animal at first rushed forward dragging Frank after him. Then he stopped, backed, and tried to withdraw his head from the encumbranc
e which blinded him. Frank, however, had no difficulty in retaining the canvas net in its place, until the men, who were armed with pitchforks, ran up and speedily despatched the unfortunate animal.

  “That’s bravely done, young master,” one of them said; “and you have saved missy’s life surely. The savage brute rushed into the yard and bit a young colt and a heifer, and then, as we came running out with forks, he took to the road again. We chased ’um along, not knowing who we might meet, and it gived us a rare turn when we saw the master’s Bessy standing alone in the road, wi’ nout between her and the dog. Where have you been, Miss Bessy?”

  “I’ve been to aunt’s,” she said, “and she gave me some strawberries and cream, and it’s wicked of you to kill the poor dog.”

  “Her aunt’s farm lies next to master’s,” the man explained; “and little miss often goes over there.

  “The dog was mad, missy, and if it hadn’t been for young master here, it would have killed you as safe as eggs. Won’t you come back to the farm, sir? Master and mistress would be main glad to thank you for having saved missy’s life.”

  “No, thank you,” Frank said; “we are late now and must be going on our way. I am very glad I happened to be here at the time;” so saying Frank and Charlie proceeded on their way to Deal.

  On reaching home he at once picked out four of his best cases of stuffed birds. The cases he had constructed himself, for his father had encouraged him to depend upon himself for his amusements. He had asked Charlie to come round to help him to carry the cases, and with these he proceeded to a shop where he had seen such things offered for sale.

  “And you really did these yourself?” the man said in surprise. “They are beautifully done. Quite pictures, I call them. It is a pity that they are homely birds. There is no great sale for such things here. I cannot give you more than five shillings each, but if you had them in London they would be worth a great deal more.”

  Frank gladly accepted the offer, and feeling sure that the pound would cover the damage done and the fine, which might be five shillings apiece for trespassing, went home in good spirits. The next morning the doctor was called out in the middle of school, and presently returned accompanied by the farmer with whom they had had the altercation on the previous day. Frank felt his cheeks flush as he anticipated a severe reprimand before the whole school.