Chapter 4 | A Fish Not Fished For | A Terrible Coward

Hake, conger, shark, whatever it might be, forgotten as Harry Paul heard that cry repeated. He had already begun turning his little boat, and then, bending to his task, he forced it through the water as he stood up in the stern, making the rippling waves rattle and splash against her bows as a line of foam parted on either side.

He could see nothing for the moment, but he knew that some one must be in deadly peril in the direction in which he had heard the cry, and, exerting all his strength, he made for the place whence he thought it must have come.

He was puzzled, for, save a few luggers swinging from the little buoys that dotted the surface of the sea, there was not a sign of an accident by the upsetting of a boat, or of any one struggling in the water. Everything looked bright and cheerful in the morning sun, and after sculling along for some time he was beginning to think that the cry must have been uttered by some sea-bird, seeming weird and strange in the early morning, when he suddenly recalled the fact that sound travels far over a smooth, calm sea.

Had he felt any further doubt it was solved on the instant by a repetition of the cry, this time clearer, and plainly to be interpreted into that agonising appeal that thrills the hearts of weak and strong alike—the one word “Help!”

And now, plainly enough, he could see the head of some one whose hands appeared at intervals above the water, evidently in a fierce struggle for life.

Whoever it was had lost his nerve and was in some peril, for though not above a hundred yards or so from the shore he was in the race of a fierce current that at certain periods of the tide ran so swiftly amongst the rocks that a strongly-manned boat could not stem its force.

“It must be some stranger,” thought Harry, as he exerted himself more and more. “Poor fellow! I shall never get to him in time.”

And then, with the big drops standing upon his forehead, he toiled on, his eyes fixed upon the drowning figure, and the feeling strong upon him of how awful it was for anyone to be called upon to yield up his life on such a glorious morning as this.

At times his heart seemed to stand still with the chilling influence of the horror he felt, for, in spite of his efforts, the boat seemed to crawl over the surface of the water.

He was now near enough to see that it was a man—evidently a bather—who was struggling for his life and in terrible danger. The poor fellow seemed to have gone out too far, and, in his ignorance, had been drawn into the fierce current—one that no one dwelling about Carn Du would have ventured to approach; and, unless help were soon afforded, there would be a dead body cast up somewhere by a weedy cove just about the turn of the tide.

Harry Paul’s thoughts were busy, coward as he was, while his heart was beating so painfully that he seemed ready to choke.

“I can only do one thing,” he thought—“try to reach him with the boat. If I jump over and swim, I shall get there no faster, but if I do he will seize me in a drowning clutch, and we shall both go down.”

A curious shuddering sensation ran through him, and the remembrance of what he had gone through on the previous day came back with a strange exactness, in which he seemed to feel once more the cold clinging touch of the net upon his bare skin, and for the moment he felt as if he were paralysed.

He shook off the horrible sensation, though, and, toiling away at his oar, sent the boat rapidly on, so as to get into the current at right angles to its course, and be swept on towards the drowning man.

The help must come quickly if it was to be of use, for the swimmer was becoming a swimmer no longer. The horror of his position had robbed him, as it were, of his knowledge, and instead of striking out slowly and calmly, almost without effort, and keeping his head as low down in the water as possible, he was making frantic efforts to raise himself from time to time, and beating the water with his hands.

Then Harry could see an effort of the reason made over the animal faculties, and for a few moments the drowning man took a few steady strokes, but only to utter a gurgling cry and throw up his hands, beat the water again, and go under.

The moment before Harry Paul seemed to have been exerting his full strength to force the boat through the water, but an accession of strength came to him, and with a few fierce thrusts he drove her bows into the edge of the current, which gave it so quick a snatch that it was whirled round, and its occupant nearly lost his footing; but he was too practised a boatman for that. Recovering himself directly, he planted a foot on either side, the oar bent in the water, and, getting the boat’s head right, he forced her along farther and farther into the current, with which she seemed to race onward towards the drowning man.

He was quite a hundred yards from him yet; but rapidly diminishing the distance now, for the boat seemed to tear along; but Harry’s heart sank lower and lower, and the chilly feeling of despair grew more strong as, just when he had reduced the distance to about fifty yards, he saw a hand appear for a moment above the water, and then disappear, leaving the glistening surface perfectly blank.

Harry uttered a hoarse cry as he still sculled along, his eyes fixed upon the spot where the hand had disappeared, and then tracing in imagination the course the drowning man would take as he was swept along beneath the surface, he made for the place.

It was in imagination, but his mental calculation was not far wrong, for within a few yards of where it might be expected, and not ten from where he was now sculling, he saw something roll up as it were to the surface, there was a gleam of white in the sunlit water, and then it was disappearing again, when, acting upon the impulse of the moment, Harry loosened his hold of the oar, took two steps forward over the thwarts, and leaped into the sea.

As Harry Paul disappeared in the swift current the boat rocked and danced, and was sent many feet away by the impulse it received; but as he rose to the surface, regardless of everything but the drowning man he was striving to save, the boat swept by him, lightened of its load, and was whirled slowly round and round.

It was a matter of impulse, and Harry Paul’s experience should have taught him that keeping perfectly cool, and urging the boat along to where he had last seen the body, was the surest way of rendering help. But there are times when even those of the strongest mental capacity find it is difficult to retain their presence of mind.

It was so here. Led away by his feelings and the gallant desire he felt to succour someone in distress, Harry had as it were kicked away what meant life for both; but he did not realise the danger then.

As he plunged beneath the surface of the racing current he recalled the fact that he was almost fully dressed, for the thick flannel jersey he wore seemed to cling to his arms and impede his action, but that was forgotten directly, as he rose in the water and looked around.

There was nothing visible. He was too late, so it seemed; but he swam strongly on, the cold immersion seeming to lend additional vigour to his frame.

Now there was something!

No; it was only a bunch of seaweed floating by, with its long streamers spreading out in the clear water like a woman’s hair. He was too late, too late, and— Yes, that was something white down in the water rising now, and— Yes, he had it—a man’s wrist, and the next moment he had given it a drag which brought its owner’s head above the surface.

He was not dead, for, as Harry Paul turned him so that he floated on his back with his face above water, the drowning man began to make frantic clutches with his hands, so that it was only by loosing his hold and getting behind that Harry Paul avoided what would have been a deadly embrace.

He knew well enough what he ought to do, namely, seize the drowning man by the hair, and then turn upon his own back and float, drawing the other after him; but on trying this a difficulty met him at the offset: the man’s hair was very short; but he got over it by grasping his ears, and then, throwing himself back, he struck out with his legs so as to keep afloat and go with the racing current.