George Manville Fenn (continued 5)

“There,” he said, “Mr Conger Eel, Esquire, won’t notice that there’s a hook in that nice tasty bit of pilchar’. He’ll take it for his supper, and to-morrow he’ll make conger pie. Now, are you ready?”

“Yes,” cried Arthur, making an effort to master his dread.

“Right, then,” cried Josh; “lift the lead there over the side, and I’ll drop in the bait, and we shall have no tangle.”

Arthur lifted a heavy piece of lead of the shape of a long egg cut down through its long diameter and attached by wire rings to the line, and lowered it over the side, Josh dropping in the silvery bait of pilchard at the same moment, and as the lead sank the bait seemed to dart down as if alive, disappearing in the dark clear water as the line ran rapidly over the side.

“Let your line run, lad; there’s good seven fathom o’ water just here. That’s the way,” said Josh. “Now she’s at the bottom.”

Plash, plash! came from the other side of the boat, and Dick shouted, “Hooray, Taff! here goes for first fish.”

“Never you mind him,” said Josh to Arthur. “Now, then, hold hard; haul up a fathom o’ line—that’s the way: now your bait’s just by the bottom, and you’ll know when you’ve got a bite.”

Arthur obeyed, and sat in the boat holding the line with both hands as rigid as a wax image, and gazing hopelessly at the rough fisherman, whose one short arm seemed horribly clever and deft, but he fancied it would be awkward if he had to deal with a large eel.

“Hadn’t you better get the chopper ready?” said Arthur hoarsely.

“Oh, that’s all ready,” said Josh laughing; “but you ain’t had a touch yet.”

“N–no—I’m not sure,” said Arthur; “something seemed heavy at the end of the line.”

“Four pound o’ lead, my lad, is heavy,” said Josh, smiling. “You’ll know when you get a conger.”

“Hadn’t—hadn’t we better fish for something else, as the congers don’t bite?”

“How do you know as they don’t bite?” said Josh good-humouredly.

“They—they don’t seem to,” said Arthur. “Perhaps the bait’s off. Had we better see?”

“Oh, no; that bait isn’t off,” said Josh quietly. “You bide a bit, my lad. Congers don’t care about light when they’re feeding. You’ll see when the sun’s well down.”

“But I’d rather fish for mackerel, I think,” said Arthur as he gazed down into the dark water, and seemed to see twining monsters coming up to pluck him out of the boat.

“Couldn’t ketch mack’rel here, my lad. This is a conger hole. Reg’lar home for ’em among these rocks. Will and me found ’em out: nobody else comes and fishes here. We found this hole.”

“Ahoy! here’s a game. Oh, don’t he pull! Oh, my hands!” cried Dick.

“Let me take him,” said Will.

“No, no, I’ll catch him!” cried Dick excitedly. “I’ve got such a big one, Taff; he’s trying to pull my arms out of the sockets!”

Tug—pull—jerk—drag—the line was running here and there; and if Dick had not twisted it round his hands it would have been drawn through them. As it was, it cut into them, but he held on like a hero.

“Let the line go!” Will kept saying—“let the line go!” but Dick did not seem to understand. If he did, he was not disposed to let it run, and, as he thought, lose the fish; and so he dragged and hauled hand over hand, with Arthur shivering and ready, but for sheer shame, to get right away in the bows, as the struggle went on.

“Here he is!” cried Dick at last. “Oh, what a monster! and how he pulls!”

Arthur did not turn his head, and so he saw nothing of what followed, for he felt sick with dread; but there was a scuffling and a splashing, then a beating and flapping in the boat.

“Keep him clear of the line, Will, lad!” said Josh.

“Right!” was the laconic reply; and then there were two or three heavy dull blows, as if some one were striking something soft. And now Arthur turned round to see that Will had the great head of an eel between his knees, out of which he cleverly twisted the hook, and held the slowly writhing creature up at arm’s-length.

“Oh, what a monster!” cried Dick.

“Only a little one,” said Will, laughing. “It is not above fifteen or sixteen pounds.”

“Why, how big do they grow, then?” cried Dick, as the eel was thrown into the locker and the lid shut down.

“I’ve seen them ninety pounds!” said Will. “Josh, there, saw one a hundred. Didn’t you, Josh?”

“Hundred and three pounds and an half!” said Josh. “We shall have some sport to-night!”

Chapter Twenty Four.

Arthur catches his first Conger, and takes a Lesson in something else.

“Oh!” shouted Arthur; “oh! something’s pulling me out of the—”

Boat he would have said, for he had turned the line round his right-hand to keep the lead from the bottom; and all at once it had seemed to him that there was a slight quiver of the line; then it was drawn softly a little way, and then there was a heavy sustained pull that took his arm over the side, and he seemed as if he were about to follow it, only Josh leaned towards him, and took hold of the line beyond his hand.

“Untwist it, my lad; don’t turn it round your fingers like that. That’s right. Now, take hold with both hands.”

“But I can’t hold it!” cried Arthur, who was shivering with excitement.

“Oh, yes! you can, my lad,” said Josh coolly. “I’ll show you. Now, hold tight.”

Arthur clung to the line with both hands in desperation; and it seemed to him that the great fish at the end of it was trying to draw his shoulders out of their sockets.

“It’s too hard. It cuts my hands. It’s horrible!”

“Let him go, then,” said Josh laughing; “there’s plenty of line. Let it run through your hands.”

“It burns them,” cried Arthur desperately. “Ah!” he exclaimed with a sigh of delight, “it’s gone!”

“Haul in the line, then!” said Josh grimly, while Will, who knew what it meant, touched Dick on the shoulder so that he should watch.

Arthur began to haul in the slack line for a few feet, and then he shouted again:

“Here’s another one bigger than the last!” he cried. “I cannot hold it.”

“Let it go, then,” said Josh; and Arthur once more slackened the line, which ran fast for a yard, and then fell loose.

“He’s gone now!” said Arthur, hauling in the line; and then in a tone of voice so despairing that his brother burst into a hearty laugh: “Here’s another at it now!”

“I say, what a place this is, Taff!” cried Dick. “Here, let me help you!”

“No, no,” cried Josh; “you let him ketch the conger himself. Slacken, my lad.”

As if moved by a spring, or disciplined to obey the slightest word of command, Arthur slackened the line.

“Now, then, haul again,” cried Josh; and the boy pulled in the line eagerly, as if moved by the idea that the sooner he got the hook out of the water the less likelihood would there be of its being seized by one or other of the monsters that inhabited the rocky hole.

“He has got it again!” cried Arthur in tones of anguish; “he’ll pull me in!”

“Oh, no, he won’t; you’re a-going to pull him out, if he don’t mind his eye,” said Josh sturdily. “You’ve got some brains, young gentleman, and he arn’t.”

“But there must be a swarm there after my bait,” pleaded Arthur.

“Not there,” cried Josh. “There’s one got it.”

“But I’ve had three or four on, and they’ve gone again.”

“Oh, no! you haven’t,” said Josh; “conger eels often do like that. You pull hard; he pulls hard and tries to get to the bottom. You slack the line, and as there’s nobody pulling up, he comes to see what’s the matter. Now, slacken!”

Arthur let the line run.

“Now haul again.”

The boy drew in the line, and gained nearly twice as much as he had let out before there was a tremendous drag again, and as Arthur held on with both hands his arms quivered.

“Ease him a little—now pull—ease again—now pull!” cried Josh, over and over, till, giving and taking like this, Arthur had drawn the heavy lead nearly to the surface of the water, and for a moment he thought the dark little object going here and there was the eel; but directly after he saw a great wavy blue-black line some feet down, and that all at once turned to one that was creamy white, then dark, then light again, as the conger writhed over and over.

“I’ve got one too!” cried Dick; and his attention, like that of Will, was taken from what went on upon the starboard side of the boat, leaving Arthur to the care of Josh.

“Josh!—please,” faltered Arthur, as he clung to the line in an agony of dread, too much alarmed now even to let go. “Josh—pray—pray cut the line!”

“No, no, no! you don’t mean that,” whispered back Josh encouragingly. “You mean get my little axe, and kill my gentleman as soon as he’s aboard.”

“Yes, yes. No, no,” whispered Arthur. “Pray, pray, don’t bring that horrible thing into the boat!”

“Not till he’s dead, you mean,” said Josh, in a low voice, so that Dick and Will could not hear. “You’re not scared of a gashly old conger like that? You hang on to the line, my lad. You’ve got plenty of pluck, only you arn’t used to it. Now, you see, ease him a bit.”

Arthur involuntarily slackened the line, and the eel ceased its backward drag and swam up.

“Now, haul again—just a bit,” said Josh, standing there with the gaff in his perfect hand, keen axe in the deformed.

Arthur obeyed and dragged the writhing serpentine creature close to the surface. Then, quick as thought, Josh had the great snaky fish by the head with his short sharp gaff-hook, drew it over the gunwale, and before Arthur could realise what was done the axe had descended with a dull thud, and Josh dragged the quivering half inert conger over the side and forward, clear of the line and away from Arthur.

“There!” cried Josh, as he cleverly extricated the hook with the disgorger; “you come and look at him, Master Arthur. He can’t bite now, and I’m holding him down.”

There was so much quiet firmness in the fisherman’s words that Arthur felt himself constrained to go forward and look at the great snaky fish as it heaved and curved its springy body in the bottom of the boat.

“A reg’lar good fat one,” said Josh. “She be a bit ugly, sure enough, and I’ve seen many a boy in my time scared by the gashly things. It was your first one, Master Arthur, and you caught him, and I say as you warn’t a bit scared.”

“I—I couldn’t help being a little afraid,” said Arthur slowly; “but look! look! it’s biting the rope.”

“Ay, but it has no strength to bite now,” said Josh. “There, we’ll put um in the well, and let um lie there. You caught um—fine eight-and-thirty pound if it be an ounce. Now you shall catch another.”

“What!” gasped Arthur.

“I say, now you shall catch another,” said Josh sturdily, as he leaned over the side and washed disgorger, axe, and hook. “You won’t mind half so much next time, and then your brother won’t be able to crow over you.”

“I don’t want to catch any more, thank you,” said Arthur.

“Oh, yes, you do,” said Josh, in his quiet stubborn fashion. “Don’t you say you don’t. It won’t be half so startling ketching the next one, and I’ve got a tender well-beaten bit of squid for the next bait—one as will tempt the biggest conger that is in the hole.”

“No, no!” whispered Arthur. “I don’t want to fish any more; I don’t indeed.”

“Hush!” whispered Josh; “you’ll have them hear.”

Arthur was silent directly, and just then his fright was at its height with the conger that Dick had hooked, and that Will gaffed and hauled in. For as Will struck at it with the conger-bat or club, instead of there coming a dull thud as the blow fell, there was the sharp tap of wood upon wood.

Will had missed this time, and the conger was apparently starting on a voyage of discovery about the boat.

Arthur shrank back, but before the fish could come his way and tangle the lines Will caught Dick’s about a yard above the hook, dragged the fish towards the stern, and gave it four or five paralysing blows in succession, disabling it, so that he soon had the hook out, and he and Dick stood looking at each other and panting with excitement.

“Hor—hor—hor!” laughed Josh quietly as he seated himself on the thwart and leisurely began to pass the hook through the grey piece of tough soft cuttle-fish. “Look at ’em, Master Rawthur, there be a fuss over a conger not above half as big as ourn.”

“It was ever so much stronger,” cried Dick indignantly.

“Hear him, Mast Rorthur!” cried Josh. “Hor—hor—hor! There, go on, you two. We’re going to give you a startler this time. There you are, sir,” he whispered, holding up the bait for Arthur to see. “That’s one as’ll tempt um, and you see we’ll have another big one before they know where they are. I say, you won’t be scared of the next, will you, now?”

“I’ll—I’ll try not to be,” whispered Arthur, drawing a long breath.

“Then you won’t be,” whispered Josh. “That’s the way: in with the lead. Of course they’re awk’ard things for any boy to tackle at first. I was downright frightened first one I hooked, when I was ’bout as old as you, and it warn’t above half the size of the one you ketched.”

“Were you really frightened of it?” said Arthur in the same low tone.

“Frightened, Master Taffarthur! Why, my cap come off and fell in the water, and I had to up with the killick and row after it.”

“But that didn’t show you were frightened.”

“Didn’t it though, sir? Why, it was my hair rose up in such a gashly way it lifted it off. There, now, hold steady, and it won’t be long before you have a bite.”

It was getting so dark now that Arthur could not see whether Josh was laughing at him or not, though for the matter of that, if it had been noontide, he would not have been able to make out the rough fisherman’s thoughts by the expression of his countenance.

A splash from behind them told them that Dick’s bait had just gone in, and then they sat—both couples—chatting away in a low tone, and waiting for the next congers, and somehow waiting in vain. The last glow faded out of the sky, and the stars twinkled in the sea, where they were reflected from above. The great black bird rock stood up, looking gigantic against the western sky, and every now and then there was a querulous cry that set a party of the sea-birds scolding and squealing for a few minutes before all was still again.

In the distance across the bay the lights of the harbour shone out faintly at first, then clearly, and the various lamps about the village seemed like dull stars.

Still there was no bite, and Arthur rejoiced in his heart, hoping that they would catch no more, and thinking how horrible it would have been to have one of the monsters on board in the dark.

Josh had changed the position of Arthur’s line several times, and at last he took hold of it and began to haul it in.

“Going to leave off?” said Arthur joyously.

“No, my lad, not yet. You won’t mind me throwing in for you?”

“Oh no!” cried the boy.

“Then,” said Josh, “I’m just going to throw over yonder into the deepest part, and if we don’t get one out of there we may give up.”

Drawing in and laying the line carefully in rings, he took the weight and threw it some distance from them, the lead falling with a heavy plash. Then Dick and Will followed suit on their side, and Arthur was compelled to take the line again from Josh, for the latter said:

“Oh no! I’m not going to fish. I can have a turn any day, my lad. Go on, and we’ll show ’em this time what it is to fish again’ us. A mussy me! we’ll give ’em a startler directly. We’ll show ’em what conger be.”

Arthur’s hands felt cold and damp as he sat there holding: the line and thinking of what would be the consequences if he hooked a monster and Josh failed to kill it before dragging it on board. It would run all over the boat, and it would be sure to bite him first—he knew it would; and the idea was horrible, making him so nervous that his hands shook as he held the line.

It was quite dark now, but a beautiful transparent darkness, with the sky one glorious arch of glittering points, and the sea a mirror in which those diamond sparks were reflected. The phosphorescence that had been so beautiful on the night when his brother was out with Josh and Will was absent, save a faint pale glow now and then, seen when a wave curled over and broke upon the great bird rock. All was wonderfully still, and they sat for some time listening to the distant singing of some of the fishermen, whose voices sounded deliciously soft and melodious as the tones of the old west-country part-song floated over the heaving sea.

Suddenly Arthur started, for Dick exclaimed:

“This is just lovely. I wish father were here.”

“Ay! I wish he weer,” said Josh. “I often pity you poor people who come from big towns and don’t know what it is to be in such a place as this. Beautiful, arn’t it, Master Rorthur, sir?”

“Ye–es,” said Arthur, “it’s a beautiful night.”

“Ay, it be,” assented Josh; “and in a snug harbour like this there’s no fear of a steamer or ship coming to run you down.”

Arthur shuddered.

“Rather awkward for them among the rocks, eh, Josh?” said Will.

“Awk’ard arn’t the word,” said Josh. “’Member the Cape packet being wrecked here, my lad?”

“Oh, yes! I recollect it well,” said Will. “It was just here, wasn’t it?”

“Just yonder,” said Josh. “She went on the rocks about ten fathom beyond where our grapnel lies.”

“Was anyone hurt?” said Arthur, who shivered at the idea of a wreck having been anywhere near them.

“Hurt, my lad? Why, it was in one of the worst storms I can ’member. Tell him about the poor souls, Will.”

“The packet ran right on the rocks, Master Arthur,” said Will solemnly. “Where we are is one mass of tossing foam in a storm, and the froth and spray fly over the Mew Rock here. Directly the packet had struck a great wave came in and lifted her right up and then dropped her again across the ridge yonder, and she broke right in two.”

“Like a radish,” said Josh.

“And one end went down in the deep water one side, the other end the other side.”

“Ay,” said Josh, “it’s very deep water out there, and they used to be at work regular for months and months getting out the cargo and engines when the weather was calm.”

“But the people—the people?” cried Arthur. “What became of them?”

“Hah!” ejaculated Josh. “What come o’ them?”

“Were they drowned?” said Dick.

“Every poor creature on board,” said Will.

“And none of you fishermen went out in your boats to help them?” cried Dick indignantly.

“Just hark at him,” cried Josh. “A mussy me! He’s never seed the sea in a storm when— Look out, Master Awthur,” he whispered.

It was pretty dark, but Josh’s eyes were accustomed to that transparent gloom, and he had noted a tremulous motion of the boy’s line almost before Arthur started, for there was a gentle, insidious touch at his bait that telegraphed along the line to his fingers, and then drew it softly through them as the fish, whatever it was, took the bait and began to swim away.

Arthur started as Josh whispered to him, and his fingers closed upon the line.

The moment before this latter was moving as if some tiny fish were drawing it from him; but the moment his closing hands checked the line’s progress there was a tremendous jerk and a rush; and as, in spite of himself, Arthur held on, it seemed as if a boy a good deal stronger than himself were trying to pull it out of his hands, and after a few furious struggles seated himself, to hang at the end with his whole weight.

“I told you so,” said Josh in satisfied tones. “I knowed as well as could be that there would be a big one down yonder, and I think it is a big one, eh, Master Rawthur.”

“It’s—it’s a monster,” panted Arthur. “Hadn’t we better let it go?”

“Let it do what?” cried Josh. “A mussy me! what do he mean?”

“Oh! I say, Taff, you are a lucky one,” cried Dick in genuine disappointed tones. “On! all right, we’ve got one too.”

“Lucky one!” At that moment Arthur was bitterly repenting his want of foresight. Both hands were engaged now or he might have got out his pocketknife and, unseen by Josh in the darkness, have cut the line, which would have been supposed to be broken by the violent struggles of the great eel.

“I’ll never come again,” he thought to himself, “if ever I get safely back. I would not have come if I had known. Oh! what shall I do?”

These are a specimen or two of the thoughts that ran through Arthur Temple’s brains as he clung desperately to the line with the conger or whatever it was at the end tugging and jerking at it hard enough to make the boy’s shoulders sore.

“Steady! steady!” cried Josh, interfering. “That’s not the way to ketch conger. Give him line, as I showed you afore. There, you see,” he continued, as Arthur slackened the cord. “Eh, ’ullo! Why, what’s up?” he exclaimed. “Here, give me hold.”

Arthur passed the line to him with a sigh of intense relief, and Josh gave way, hauled, and tried three or four different little plans before passing the line back to Arthur.

“Here, you ketch hold,” he cried. “It’s a big one and no mistake. He has got his tail twisted round a bit of rock, or he’s half in a hole, or something. Don’t let him shake you like that, my lad, but give him line when he snatches you. He’s half in a hole as sure as can be, and if we hauled we should only break the line.”

“What are we to do?” said Arthur, his words coming in pants. “Shall we leave the line and go?”

“Leave the line, my lad!” cried Josh. “Well, that arn’t very likely. No, no: lines are too vallerble, and instead of giving the conger the line, we’ll get him aboard.”

“But how? It won’t come,” said Arthur peevishly.

“You must coax him same as I showed you before. Fishers wants patience—waiting for what they catches, undoing tangles in nets and lines, and dealing with conger. Don’t you see, my lad, if you haul so does the conger: he’s frightened, and he fights for his life; but as soon as you leave off hauling, so does he, and begins to uncurve and untwist himself. Then’s your time to haul him out of the rocks, before he has time to anchor himself again.”

It seemed to Arthur as if he had no power to disobey Josh. Shame, too, supported the fisherman, for the boy had a horror of being supposed a coward, so he acted precisely as Josh told him, giving and taking with the line, but for some time without avail, and Arthur piteously asked if it was of any use to go on.

“Use! I should think so,” cried Josh. “Why, he’s a big one, and we’ve got to ketch him. Now haul, my lad, steady.”

Arthur obeyed, and the violent jerking of the line began just as if the great eel were making snatches at it.

“Now, give way, quick and sharp,” cried Josh.

The boy did so, letting the line run over the side.

“I told you so,” cried Josh, as it ran faster and faster. “He’s going away now. He’s left his hole. Now lay hold, and get him to the top quick as you can. He’ll come up now.”

Josh was right, for the eel had left the rocks, intending to swim away, and when it felt the line once more it began to struggle, but on the tension being eased it swam upwards. And so on again and again, till the pale under parts of the great fish could be seen below the surface, which was swirling and eddying with the strong motions of the muscular tail.

“He is a big one,” cried Josh. “Got yours in, lads?”

“Yes,” cried Will.

“Give us room then,” cried Josh. “Hold on tight, youngster. No, no, Will: we can do him ourselves.”

For Will had changed his position to take the line from Arthur, who felt as if he should have liked to kick the fisherman for interfering at such a time.

Acting like a machine in Josh’s hands, Arthur slackened and hauled, and hauled and slackened, until the great eel was right at the surface, and Josh leaning over the gunwale, waiting his opportunity to hook it with the great gaff; but though he made two or three attempts Arthur was so helpless that he rather hindered than aided the capture. At last, though, by a clever stroke Josh hooked the monster, and stretched out his hand for his little axe.

As he did so there was a tremendous beating and splashing of the water, and the eel literally twisted itself into a knot upon the gaff, forming a great writhing bunch upon the shaft, and mingling line and self about the hook in the most confusing manner.

Arthur had behaved as well as he could, but this was too much for him. Dropping the line, he let himself fall backwards over the seat, scrambled forward on hands and knees, rose up, and was getting into the narrow portion of the boat in the bows, when he stepped upon something slippery and fell right upon a living eel, the one Dick had just captured.

“Oh, oh!” yelled Arthur, starting up and bounding back amidships, to fall once more, with his hands upon the huge slimy knot that Josh had just dragged on board.

“A mussy me!” groaned Josh, as he vainly tried to get a stroke at the great eel’s head with the axe. “Here, look alive, Will, lad; give him the bat.” Dick followed his brother’s example and got as far out of the way as he could, while quite an exciting fight went on, if fight it can be called where the offence comes entirely from one side, and the other is winding in and out among legs and seats, fishing-lines and baskets, trying to get away. It was so dark that it was next to impossible to see where the monster was; and though Will struck at it fiercely with the bat, he more often struck the boat than the fish.

Josh, too, made some cuts at it with the axe, but he only missed, and he was afraid to do more for fear he should drive the weapon through the bottom of the boat.

“She’s free o’ the line now,” cried Josh, who was not aware that one chop he had given had divided the stout cord. “Let her go now, Will, lad. She won’t get out of the boat.”

“All right!” said Will coolly; and Arthur uttered a groan; but just then, to his great relief, Dick spoke out.

“What! are you going to leave that thing crawling about in the boat while we go home?” he said.

“Ay, my lad; she won’t hurt.”

“Thankye,” said Dick. “I’m going overboard then to be towed.”

“Hor—hor—hor!” laughed Josh. “Well, all right, my lad, we’ll light the lanthorn, and then p’r’aps I can get a cut at her. Where’s the matches, Will? Hallo!”

For just then there was a tremendous scuffling in the fore part of the boat, as the great eel forced itself amongst the spare rope and odds and ends of the fishing gear. Then there was a faint gleam seen for a moment on the gunwale, and a splash, and then silence.

“Why, she’s gone,” cried Josh.

“What! Over the side?” cried Dick.

“Ay, lad, sure enough; and the biggest one we took to-night, and my best conger-hook in her mouth.”

Arthur uttered a sigh of relief that was almost a sob, and sitting down very quietly he listened to the talking of his three companions, as the anchor and killick were got up, and the boat was rowed across the starry bay, to reach the landing-place about half an hour before the expected time, Mr Temple being in waiting, and pacing to and fro upon the pier.

“Caught any?” he said.

“Yes, father, lots, but the big one got away,” cried Dick.

“How did you get on, Arthur?” said Mr Temple. “Were you very much alarmed?”

Arthur would have honestly said, “Yes;” but before he could speak, Josh exclaimed:

“’Haved hisself like a trump, sir. Him and me got all the big uns; and it’s no joke ketching your first conger, as p’r’aps you know.”

Chapter Twenty Five.

A Cornish Gale; and Dick Temple takes his First Lesson in Wind.

It can rain in Cornwall, and when it does rain it rains with all its might. The same remark applies to the wind, which blows with all its might sometimes from the west and south-west.

A few days had elapsed since the conger-fishing trip, and it had been arranged with Uncle Abram, who had expressed himself as being highly honoured by a visit from Mr Temple that Josh and Will should be ready with the boat for a long row to three or four of the old mine-shafts and creeks of the bay, where Mr Temple intended making a few investigations, and taking specimens of the different ores.

But when Dick rose, as he thought at daybreak, he found that it was half-past seven, that the rain was streaming down, and that the wind kept striking the side of the house, as it came from over the great Atlantic, with a noise like thunder.

He opened the window, but was glad to shut it again, for the wind snatched it, as it were, from his hand, to send it with a bang against the wall of the house. So shutting it close once more, and giving one of the panes a rub with the towel, he put his nose against it and looked out at the bay.

“Oh, how jolly miserable!” he exclaimed. “Here, Taff, hi! Wake up.”

Taff would not wake up, and a second summons had no effect. In fact the nickname Taff had a bad effect upon Arthur Temple, causing a sort of deafness that was only removed by calling him Arthur.

“It rains and it blows, and the sea is one mass of foam. Oh, what waves!”

So impressive were these latter that for some time Dick forgot to dress, but kept watching the huge, dark green banks of water come rolling in and then break upon the shore.

“Here, what a stupid I am!” he said to himself at last; and hastily scrambling on his clothes, he went down-stairs and out on to the cliff, to be almost startled by the heavy thunder of the great billows that came tumbling in, every now and then one of them coming with a tremendous smack upon the pier, when the whole harbour was deluged, the foam and spray flying over the luggers, which were huddled together, as if in alarm, beneath the shelter of the sea wall.

Dick forgot that it was raining heavily, and ran down to the great bed of boulders at the end of the village, where, as the huge waves came in, they drove up the massive stones, which varied in size from that of a man’s head to that of a Cheshire cheese, sending them some distance up towards the cliff, and then, as the wave retired, boomble—roomble—doomble, doomble—doom, they rolled back again one over the other, as if mockingly defying the retiring wave to come and do that again.

Here was the secret of how pebbles and shingle and boulders were made, grinding one another smooth as were driven one over the other for hundreds and hundreds of years till they were as smooth as the rock upon which they beat.

This was exciting enough for a time, but, regardless of rain and wind, Dick ran along the cliff to a place he knew, a very shelf in the rock which went down perpendicularly to a deep little cove, in which he felt sure that the sea would be beating hard.

“It’s just a hundred feet,” he said, “because Josh told me, and I shall be able to see how high a wave can come.”

He said this, but only to himself, for as he hurried along the cliff there were moments when he could hardly get his breath for the force of the wind which beat full in his face.

Once or twice he hesitated, wondering whether it was safe to proceed in such a storm.

He laughed at his fears, though, as he stood in shelter for a few moments, and then went on again, to, reach the spot he sought, and find to his great delight that the rock bulged out, so that without danger he could look right down upon the sea; while another discovery he made was, that though he seemed to be standing right facing the wind he was in comparative calm.

It paid for the journey, for as he advanced to the edge he could see low down that the waves were churning up foam which the wind caught as it was finished and sent right up in a cloud of flakes and balls light as air in a regular whirl, to come straight up past him, higher and higher above his head, till the very summit of the cliff was reached, when away it went in a drift landward.

Why was it quite calm where he stood, and yet the full force of the Atlantic gale coming full in his face?

It was a puzzle to Dick Temple. The wind was blowing so hard that it was cutting the foamy tops from the waves, and sweeping all along like a storm of tremendous rain. It seemed to him that he should be blown flat against the rock, and held there spread-eagle fashion; but instead of this it was perfectly calm, and the thought came upon him how grand it would be to stand just where the wind was blowing its hardest, and to see what it felt like to be in the full force of an Atlantic gale.

“I’ll climb right up to the very top of the cliff,” he said. “I wonder whether the wind ever does blow strong enough to knock anyone down.”

But there was too much to fascinate him below for him to drag himself away at once. From where he stood he could see all along below the cliffs where he had been rowed by Josh and Will, and that where, then and afterwards, when his father accompanied them searching for some good mineral vein, the sea had heaved gently, and the waves had curled over and broken sparkling on the rocks, all was now one chaos of wildly foaming and tossing waters. The huge green waves ran rolling in to break with a noise like thunder, and when some huge hill of water came in, rose, curled over, and broke, it was with a tremendous boom, and the spray rushed thirty, forty, and fifty feet up the rock before it poured back.

“I wonder what would happen to a boat if it was down there?” said Dick aloud.

“Just the same as would happen to a walnut-shell if you were to throw it down where five hundred hammers were beating about on a pile of stones such as you use to mend the roads.”

“Why, I didn’t hear you come, Will,” cried Dick eagerly.

“I was going to your place to tell you that we could not go out to-day, of course, and I saw you come out, so I followed.”

“And so a boat would not get on very well down there, wouldn’t it?”

“Get on!” said Will smiling; “why, it would be smashed up.”

“And suppose a ship were to be close in there, Will?”

“She would be beaten up into matchwood, all torn and ragged to pieces.”

“But is the sea so strong?”

“Look at it,” cried Will, pointing to the leaves, “It is awful sometimes.”

“Worse than this?”

“Yes: much,” replied Will. “But look here, suppose a great ship came driving round the head here and struck?”

“What do you mean by struck?”

“Driven on the rocks. Do you know what would happen then?”

“Well, she would be wrecked, I suppose,” said Dick.

“Yes, the waves would come leaping and thundering over her the same as they do over that piece of rock, and sweeping her decks. Then every great wave that came in would lift her up, and then leave her to come down crash upon the rocks, shaking out her masts and loosening her timbers and planks, and keeping this on till she tumbled all to pieces and the sea was strewed with the bits which kept tossing in and out among the rocks.”

“Have you ever seen the sea do this?” said Dick eagerly.

“Yes,” replied Will solemnly, “often. It’s very awful sometimes to live at the sea-side on a rocky coast.”

The two lads stood for a few minutes silently gazing down into the wild waste of tossing foam, and then Dick said slowly:

“I think I should like to see a wreck. I shouldn’t like for there to be a wreck; but if there was a wreck I should like to see it.”

“I don’t think you would again,” said Will sadly. “I used to think so when I was quite a little fellow; but when I did see one it all seemed so pitiful to know that there were people on board the ship asking you to come and save them.”

“Then why didn’t you go and save them?” cried Dick excitedly. “You are all good sailors about here, and have boats. You ought to do something to save the poor things.”

“We do,” said Will sadly. “I mean our men do when they can.”

“Haven’t you got a life-boat?”

“There is one at Corntown and another at Penillian Sands; but sometimes before a life-boat can be fetched a ship has gone to pieces.”

“And all the people drowned?”

“Yes. Come below here,” said Will, leading the way down the cliff.

“Is—is it safe?” said Dick.

“I will not take you where there’s any danger,” said Will.

Dick hesitated for a few moments, and then followed his companion down a path cut in a rift of the rock where a tiny stream trickled down from far inland.

The mouth of the rift was protected by a pile of rocks, against which the wind beat and the waves thundered, but the path was so sheltered that the lads were able to get nearly down to the shore.

“There are lots of paths like this down the cliff all about the coast,” said Will quietly. “They are useful for men to get down to their boats in bad weather.”

He pointed to one that was drawn right up on rollers twenty feet above the waves and snugly sheltered from the storm.

“There,” said Will the next minute, as he stood holding on behind a rock, with Dick by his side. “We’re safe enough here; the wind goes by us, you see, and the waves don’t bite here. Now, what do you think of that?”

Dick drew a long breath two or three times over before he could speak, for the scene was awful in its grandeur, and, young as he was, he felt what mere pigmies are men in face of the giants of the elements when Nature is in anger and lets loose her storms upon our shores.

Every minute, from amidst the boiling chaos of waves, one bigger than the rest came slowly from seaward with a strange gliding motion, to raise itself up like some crested serpent and curl over, and then, as it was riven in ten thousand streams and sheets of jagged foam, there was a dull roar as of thunder, the wind shrieked and yelled, and, serpent-like, the broken wave hissed, and seethed, and choked, and gurgled horribly amongst the rocks.

“What do you think of that?” said Will again gravely as he placed his lips close to Dick’s ear.

“How awful the sea is!” panted Dick as he seemed more than ever to realise its force.

“Yes,” said Will quietly, and there was a sad smile on the boy’s lip as he spoke. “But you said a little while ago that our men ought to help the shipwrecked men. Shall we get down that boat and have a row?”

“Row!” cried Dick with a horrified look; “why, it couldn’t be done.”

“Would you like to see your father and some more men get down that boat and put off to sea?”

“It would be impossible,” cried Dick. “She would be tossed over by the waves and everybody drowned.”

“Hah! Yes,” said Will smiling. “You see now the danger. Many people say that fishermen are cowardly for not doing more, when the case is that they know the danger, and those who talk and write about it don’t. It isn’t everybody who has seen the sea-coast in a storm. Shall we go up?”

“Yes,” panted Dick; “it is too awful to stay here. If a wave were to curl round the corner we should be swept away.”

“Yes,” said Will, “but the waves will not curl round the corner. They can’t come here.”

He pointed to the rugged path, for it was hard work to speak and make each other hear; and Dick began nervously to climb back, looking down once or twice at the hungry waves, which seemed ready to leap up at him and tear him from the rocks.

“I say,” he cried, “I’m glad Taff isn’t here.”

Will smiled, for he felt that Arthur would never have ventured down the cliff.

“Now,” said Dick, as they reached the shelf path once more, and he felt less nervous, “I want to go up right to the top of the cliff and feel the wind.”

“Feel the wind?” cried Will.

“Yes; feel how strong it is. Which is the best way?”

“I’ll show you,” said Will smiling; and leading the way he walked a little back towards the town and then turned into a rift similar to that by which they had descended to the shore.

“This way,” he shouted, for the wind caught them here with tremendous force, and great balls of foam were whirled up over the face of the cliff and then away on the wings of the wind inland.

“What a difference!” cried Dick as soon as they had entered the rift: for there was a perfect lull here, and all seemed comparatively at peace.

“Yes, it is sheltered here,” replied Dick; “but wait a few minutes and you will feel the wind again.”

“Yes. I want to feel it just as it comes off the sea. I’m going to stand right at the edge. It won’t blow me down, will it?”

“No; not there,” said Will smiling. “Here we are. Now come and try.”

As soon as they emerged from the shelter of the rift and stood upon the storm-swept cliff, Dick had to clap his hand to his head to keep on his hat, for the wind seized it and swept it to the extent of the lanyard by which it was fortunately held, and there it tugged and strained like a queerly-shaped kite.

The wind now was terrific, coming in deafening gusts, and more than once making Dick stagger. In fact if he had set off to run inland it would have almost carried him off his legs.

“Didn’t—know—blow—so—hard,” he panted, turning his back so that he could breathe more freely, when the wind immediately began to part the boy’s hair behind in two or three different ways, but only to alter them directly as if not satisfied with the result.

“Come along,” shouted Will. “Let’s get to the edge.”

Dick turned round, caught at Will’s extended hand, and leaning forward, tramped with him step for step towards the edge of the cliff, which went sheer down a couple of hundred feet to the shore.

They had to force their way sturdily along for about a hundred yards with the wind as it came right off the Atlantic shrieking by their ears, and deafening and confusing them. The short wiry grass was all quivering, and it was plain enough to understand why trees found it so hard to grow where they were exposed to the fury of the sea breezes that blew so many months in the year.

Step—step—step by step, the wind seeming really to push them back. Now and then, when it came with its most furious gusts, the lads regularly leaned forward against it as if it were some strange elastic solid; and then, as they nearly reached the edge, it lulled all at once, and right at the verge all was calm.

“Oh, what a pity!” cried Dick, as he stood there panting and regaining his breath; “only to think of it turning so still now that we are here.”

“Turning so still!” said Will, laughing; “why, it’s blowing harder than ever. Look at the foam-balls.”

“Yes; it’s blowing there,” said Dick; “but it’s quite calm here. Never mind; I’ll wait. There’ll be a regular guster directly.”

“No,” said Will quietly; “you may stand here all day and you’ll hardly feel the wind.”

“But why’s that?” cried Dick.

“Because we are right at the edge of a tall flat-faced cliff,” said Will. “It’s generally so.”

“But I don’t understand it,” cried Dick. “It’s blowing very hard, and we are not in shelter. Why don’t it blow here?”

“Because we are right at the edge of the cliff.”

“Don’t talk stuff and nonsense, Will,” said Dick testily. “How can you be so absurd? Why, that’s where the wind would blow hardest.”

“No, it isn’t,” replied Will.

“Now look here,” said Dick. “I know that we London chaps are all behind you country fellows over sea-side things—catching fish, and boating, and about winds and tides; but I do know better than you here. The edge of a cliff like this must be the place where the wind blows hardest.”

“But you feel for yourself that it doesn’t,” said Will laughing.

“Not just now,” cried Dick, “but it will directly.”

“No, it will not.”

“But look at the foam flying and the spray going like a storm of rain.”

“Yes,” said Will, “but not at the edge of the cliff. Look at the grass and wild flowers; they grow longer and better here too. The wind off the sea never blows very hard here.”

“Oh, what stuff!” cried Dick; “you’re as obstinate as old Taff. It will blow here directly.”

“Come along,” said Will quietly; and he walked a short distance inland, taking his companion into the full force of the gale once more.

“There!” cried Dick. “I told you so. It has come on to blow again. Let’s get back to the edge.”

Will made no objection, but walked back quickly with Dick; but before they reached the cliff edge it was nearly calm once more.

“Look at that, now,” cried Dick pettishly. “Did you ever see such a stupid, obstinate old wind in your life? It’s blowing everywhere but here.”

Will smiled so meaningly that Dick turned upon him.

“Why, what do you mean?” he cried.

“I’ll try and show you,” said Will. “Lie down here. It’s quite dry.”

Dick threw himself on the short soft turf, and Will pulled out a pocket-book, took the pencil from its loop, and, spreading the book wide, began after a fashion to draw what learned people call a diagram, but which we may more simply speak of as a sketch or figure of what he wished to explain.

It was very roughly done in straight lines, but sufficiently explanatory, especially as Will carefully followed the example of the sign-painter, who wrote underneath his artistic work, “This is a bear.”

Will began by drawing a horizontal line, and under it he wrote, “The sea.” Then he turned the horizontal line into a right angle by adding to it a perpendicular line, by which he wrote: “The cliff.” From the top of that perpendicular he drew another horizontal line, and above that he wrote, “Top of the cliff.”

“Now, then,” he said, “these little arrows stand for the wind blowing right across the sea till they come to the face of the cliff;” and he drew some horizontal arrows.

“Yes, I see,” said Dick, helping with a finger to keep down the fluttering leaves.

“Well; now the wind has got as far as the cliff. It can’t go through it, can it?”

“No,” said Dick.

“And it can’t go down for the sea.”

“Of course not.”

“It can’t go backwards, because the wind is forcing on the wind.”

“Yes,” said Dick. “Hold still, stupid!” This last to the fluttering leaf.

“Where is the wind to go, then?” asked Will.

“Why, upwards of course,” cried Dick.

“To be sure,” said Will. “Well, it strikes against the face of the cliff, and that seems to make it so angry like that it rushes straight up to get over the top.”

“Of course it does,” said Dick; “any stupid could understand that.”

“Well,” said Will, “the top’s like a corner, isn’t it?”

“No!” cried Dick; “how can it be?”

“Yes, it is,” said Will sturdily; “just like a corner, only lying down instead of standing up.”

“Oh! very well; just as you like,” cried Dick.

“Now suppose,” said Will, “you were running very fast along beside a row of houses like they are at Corntown.”

“Very well: what then?”

“And suppose you wanted to run sharp round the edge of the corner, and I was hiding behind it, and you wanted to catch me.”

“Well, I should catch you,” said Dick.

“No, you would not. You couldn’t turn short round, because you were going so fast; and you’d go some distance before you did, and you’d be right beyond me, and you’d make quite a big curve.”

“Should I? Well, suppose I should,” said Dick, rubbing one ear.

“Well,” said Will, making some more arrows up the perpendicular line which represented, the face of the cliff, “that’s how the wind does. It goes right up here, and gets some distance before it can stop, and then it curves over and flies right over the land, getting lower as it goes, till it touches the ground once more. There, that’s it; and those two dots are you and me.”

He drew some more arrows, with Dick looking solemnly on, and the result was that Will’s sketch of the wind’s action against a cliff was something like the following arrangement of lines and arrows, which illustrate a curious phenomenon of nature, easily noticeable during a gale of wind at the edge of some perpendicular cliff.

Dick felt disposed to dispute his friend’s scientific reasoning; but Will showed him by throwing his handkerchief down from the edge of the cliff, when it was caught by the gale before it had gone down a dozen feet, and whisked up above their heads and then away over the land.

A handful of grass was treated the same, and then Dick sent down his own handkerchief, which went down twice as far as Will’s before the wind took it and blew it right into a crevice in the face of the cliff, where it stuck fast.

“There’s a go,” cried Dick. “Oh! I say, how can we get it?”

Will went to the edge of the cliff and looked over before shaking his head.

“We can’t get it now,” he said. “I’ll ask Josh to come with a rope when the wind’s gone down, and he’ll lower me over.”

“What—down there—with a rope?” said Dick, changing colour. “No, don’t.”

“Why not?” said Will. “That’s nothing to going down a mine-shaft.”

Dick shuddered.

“Or going down the cliff after eggs as I do sometimes. We have gentlemen here now and then who collect eggs, and I’ve been down after them often in places where you can’t climb.”

“But I shouldn’t like you to go down for me.”

“Why not?”

“You might fall,” said Dick.

“I shouldn’t like to do that,” said Will, smiling. Then in a thoughtful, gloomy way—“It wouldn’t matter much. I’ve no one to care about me.”

“How can you say that?” cried Dick sharply. “Why, your uncle seemed to think a deal of you.”

“He’s very kind to me,” said Will sadly; “but I’ve always been an expense to him.”

“Then,” cried Dick boldly, “you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

“What—for being an expense to him?” said Will wistfully.

“No; because you couldn’t help that when you were a little fellow. Now you have grown, and are getting a big one, you ought to think of letting him be an expense to you, and you keep him. That’s what I’m going to do as soon as ever I get old enough.”

“That’s right,” said Will, looking at his companion thoughtfully. “I say, is your father going to open a mine down here?”

“I don’t know quite for certain,” said Dick; “but I think he’s going to try and find something fresh, and work that.”

“What—some new metal?”

“I don’t know,” said Dick, “and I don’t think he quite knows yet. It all depends upon what he can find good enough.”

“I wish I could find something very valuable,” said Will thoughtfully—“something that I could show him; and then he might give me work in it, so that I could be independent.”

“Well, let’s try and find something good. I’ll go with you,” said Dick.

“When?”

“Not now. Oh! I say, I must get back; I am so precious hungry.”

It was quite time; but they had not far to go, though when Dick did enter the room it was to find his father and Arthur half through their meal.

“Three quarters of an hour late, Dick,” said his father. “I waited half an hour for you before I sat down. Where have you been?”

“To look at the sea, father; and up on the cliff to see how the wind blew—how strong, I mean.”

“Sit down,” said his father rather sternly. “I like punctuality, and would rather know when you are going out.”

“Yes, father,” said Dick, “I’ll try and remember. I’m very sorry.”

Mr Temple did not answer, but raised the newspaper he was reading, and this covered his face.

Evidently Arthur thought it covered his ears as well, for he said rather importantly:—

“I was here punctually to the moment.”

“Arthur,” said his father quietly, “you had better go on with your breakfast, and not talk so much.”

Arthur coloured, and the breakfast was eaten during the rest of the time in silence—a state of affairs of which Dick took advantage, for the sea air had a wonderful effect upon his food-assimilating powers, and his performance on this particular morning made his brother leave off to stare.

“My, Dick!” he exclaimed at last as that gentleman made an attack upon a second fried sole, one of several brought in by the trawl-boat on the previous night, “I say, how you are eating!”

“Yes,” said Dick, grinning, “I’m a growing boy.”

Chapter Twenty Six.

Uncle Abram comes as an Ambassador, and gains his Ends.

“I wanted to make our expedition,” said Mr Temple, “but it is impossible, of course, to-day in the face of such a storm. What are you boys going to do?”

“Read, papa,” said Arthur. “It is too rough to go out.”

“And you, Dick?”

“Ask you to lend me your Mackintosh, father. It’s too rough to stay in. The sea’s grand.”

Arthur had already taken up a book, but he now laid it down.

“I don’t think it rains, does it?”

“No; only blows,” replied Dick; “but when you get where the spray comes off the sea, it’s like a shower.”

“I think we’ll all go,” said Mr Temple. “I want to test a few minerals first. Afterwards I should like to go down and have a look at the waves.”

It was settled that the boys should wait, and Mr Temple at once lit a spirit-lamp from a strong box of apparatus he had brought down; and, taking out a blow-pipe, he spent some little time melting, or calcining, different pieces of ore and stone that he had collected, one special piece being of white-looking mineral that took Dick’s notice a good deal, for it seemed familiar.

“Isn’t that the stone you got in the place Will Marion showed to you, father?”

“Yes, my boy,” said Mr Temple; “why?”

“Only I thought it was,” said Dick. “Is it valuable?”

“I don’t know yet. Perhaps.”

“If it is valuable, will it do Will any good?”

“I don’t know yet about that either, my inquisitive young friend,” said Mr Temple.

“I think it ought if it’s any good,” said Dick after a pause, during which he had been watching his father attentively.

“Do you?” said Mr Temple coldly; and he went on calcining a piece of the soft white stone, and then placing it in a mortar to grind it up fine.

This done, he took the powder out and spread it upon a small glass slab, where he applied a few drops of water to it, and mixed and mixed till he had formed the white powder into a paste that looked like white clay.

“I say, father,” said Dick.

“Yes.”

“Will would like to see what you are doing with that stuff. May I tell him?”

“No,” said Mr Temple, quietly kneading the white paste in his fingers and then examining it with a powerful lens. “I desire that you say no word about anything that you may see me doing. This is private work that to-day unknown to anyone else may be very valuable. Known to all the world, it might prove to be not very valuable, but absolutely worthless. Wait, my boy, and see.”

Waiting was always an unpleasant task for Dick Temple. Time never ran half fast enough for him, and to have to wait in what he called, after some one whom he had heard make use of the term, a state of mental anxiety, was something hard to be borne.

Arthur calmly took a book, after glancing in the glass to see if his collar was quite right and his hair properly brushed. He could sit and read in the most placid manner; but Dick seemed to have quicksilver in his toes and fingers. He could not keep still, but was always on the fret to be doing something.

In his eagerness to help he got into trouble three times with his father, his aid being given invariably at the wrong time, and generally resulting in his knocking over some bottle, disturbing a test, or breaking some delicate piece of apparatus.

“I’m very sorry, father, I am indeed,” he would say.

“Nobody doubts your sorrow, Dick,” cried Mr Temple; “but what I want is less sorrow and more care. You blunder on at everything instead of making a bit of a calculation first so as to see what you are about to do.”

“Well, I will, father, I will really. I’ll always in future be as careful as—careful as—careful as Taff.”

Dick had been looking round the room for an example of care, and this suggested itself.

Mr Temple smiled, and bent down over his minerals so that his boys should not see his face, as he noticed Arthur’s ears turn red and a nervous twitch go through him preparatory to his looking up from his book.

“No,” said Mr Temple, “I do not wish you to be as careful as Arthur, my boy, or to take anyone else for a model. Be just your own natural self, and do your best to run straight on your journey through life. Don’t try to run like others run; it may not always be in a good style.”

Arthur’s eyes fell upon his book once more, and his ears became of a very deep crimson as he felt injured and touched in his dignity.

“Papa might have said yes, and told Dick to imitate me,” thought Arthur; and he went on with his reading, feeling very much ill used.

“Mr Marion would like to speak to you, sir,” said the landlord, coming in just then.

“What, Will?” cried Dick eagerly.

“No, Master Richard. I shouldn’t have called him Mr Marion,” said the landlord, smiling. “It’s the old gentleman. May I show him in, sir?”

“Yes, certainly;” and Uncle Abram came in, looking like a Finnan haddock in a glazed hat, for on account of the weather the old man was clothed from head to foot in yellow oilskins, and shone and twinkled with the drops of spray.

“Sarvant, sir,” he said, making dabs with his shiny sailor’s hat as if to knock the drops off. “Sarvant, young gentleman,”—this was to Arthur, who rose and bowed stiffly—“how do, Master Dick, how do?”

Uncle Abram beamed and shook Dick’s hand heartily, seeming loth to loose it again, but he relented and turned to Mr Temple.

“You’ll excuse me, sir, for coming when you’re busy; but it’s to help a neighbour out of a difficulty.”

“Subscription?” said Mr Temple.

“Subscription?” said Uncle Abram, dragging a great silk handkerchief from inside his oilskin and wiping the drops of spray from his face. “It was about your lodgings here, sir.”

“My lodgings?” said Mr Temple.

“Yes, sir. You see neighbour here didn’t like to speak to you ’bout the matter, and I said I would. Fact is, four fish-buyers from London come down here to stay with him every year regular all through the season, and you’ve got their rooms.”

“Oh! I have their rooms?” said Mr Temple.

“That’s it, sir, that’s it,” said Uncle Abram; “and when neighbour let ’em to you he thought you only wanted ’em for a few days.”

“And I’ve been here for a few weeks.”

“Toe be sure,” said Uncle Abram.

“And he wants me to turn out, eh?” said Mr Temple rather sternly, while Dick’s countenance fell.

“Turn out arn’t the word, sir,” said Uncle Abram. “We don’t do that sort o’ thing to gentlemen down here in the west countree. Man to man—give and take—do to one another as you’d like one another to do unto you. That’s our motter down here, sir. And neighbour he told me his difficulty. ‘Nice gentleman, Mr Temple,’ he says. ‘Master Arthur a bit stiff, but Master Dick—there,’ he says, says neighbour, ‘you know what Master Dick be.’ And I said I did, and I went home and had a chat with my nevvy Will, and then I attacked the missus, and here I be.”

“So I see,” said Mr Temple rather dryly; “but really, Mr Marion, you haven’t explained yourself very clearly.”

“I s’pose not,” said Uncle Abram in a troubled way. “That’s just like me. I never do. Getting old, you see.”

“Am I to understand that you are an ambassador from the landlord, and that he wants us to go?”

“Well, something of that sort, sir,” replied Uncle Abram, who was very busy wiping drops from his forehead that were not spray.

“When do these fish-buyers come?”

“To-day, sir.”

“To-day! Then why did he not speak sooner?”

“Waited like, sir, to see if there might be a change of wind. You might want to go. They mightn’t want to come. Things veers about, sir, sometimes.”

“I consider it disgraceful,” said Mr Temple angrily, rising to touch the bell. “I’ll speak to the landlord myself.”

“Steady, sir, steady,” cried Uncle Abram. “Good neighbour o’ mine, you see. Spoke to me ’bout it, and I said yes, and here I be.”

“Yes, yes,” cried Mr Temple; “but am I to be thrown out without notice just at a time when I want particularly to stay?”

“No, sir, of course not. That’s what I keep explaining to you. Neighbour puts the case before me, and I says if the missus is willing nothing would please me better, and here I be.”

“But you do not explain matters,” said Mr Temple.

“What, not that Mrs Marion and your obedient sarvant to command, Abram Marion, ex Her Majesty’s sarvice, would be glad if you’d make shift in our rooms—sittin’, best, and two beds?”

“No. You said nothing of the kind.”

“Think of that now,” said Uncle Abram, smiling broadly. “That’s just like me, Master Dick. Gettin’ old, you see. But if you could work it round that way, sir, it would be making it pleasant for all parties, and we’d do the best up at the cottage to make you comfortable; and there’s my boy Will and our Josh and the boat at your sarvice, and there you are; and neighbour below don’t upset his old friends.”

“I shall be delighted, Mr Marion, I’m sure,” said Mr Temple, holding out his hand, which the old fellow shook heartily, bestowing a solemn wink on Dick at the same time.

“That’s a bargain then, sir?” said the old fellow, going to the door, and shouting, “Lan’ord, ahoy!” in a voice of thunder, and then coming back to open the window and yell, “Will, ahoy! Go and tell her as it’s settled.”

Then he banged to the window, and turned round as the landlord came in smiling and looking greatly relieved.

“Gentleman says it’s all right, neighbour,” said Uncle Abram.

“Thank ye heartily, neighbour,” said the landlord, “and you too, Mr Temple, sir. It’s kep’ me awake for nights.”

The result was that the little party moved bodily to Uncle Abram’s that morning, their luggage being conveyed, as soon as possible by Josh and Will; and directly they were in the pleasant sea-side rooms Uncle Abram took Dick round the place to point out various objects about the walls.

“Welcome to ’em as the flowers is to May, my lad,” he said with a good many nods and winks; “only wipe ’em dry and put ’em back when done—spy-glass, oilskins, big boots, fishing-lines, nets, and curiosities for a wet day, box o’ dominoes for the wet nights. Make yourself at home.”

Slap on the back.

This last was a sort of seal to finish the welcome; and then the old man went back to his garden to stand in the rockery, which served as a look-out, and scan the horizon with his glass.

Mr Temple was delighted with the change, for, in spite of the quiet respectability of the Cornish fishermen and their bluff, pleasant ways, a fishing port inn, even in a west-country village, is not always perfect as a place for a sojourn; while Uncle Abram’s home was a pattern of neatness, and Aunt Ruth seemed very amiably disposed towards her guests.

Chapter Twenty Seven.

A Terrible Time at Sea.

“Isn’t it glorious, Taff?” cried Dick as he stood with his brother in their little low-roofed bed-room, whose window overlooked the sea.

“Can’t say that I like it,” said Arthur languidly. “The place smells horribly of fish.”

“Pooh! That isn’t fish. It’s the sea-weed. It turns limp, and smells because the weather’s moist and stormy. There, come on. Father must be ready now, and I want to go down and see the sea.”

Uncle Abram came in just as they were about to start, and insisted upon lending a couple of suits of oilskins, which he brought out of a room in the roof, where he kept his stores, as he called them.

“Was Will’s,” he explained. “He growed out of ’em. Not much to look at, sir,” he added apologetically to Mr Temple, “but they’ll keep out the water. We like the sea, but we like to keep dry.”

Arthur looked horribly disgusted, for his father gladly accepted the hospitable offer, and he had to submit to being buttoned up in the stiff garb that Will had cast off years before, even to the high boots.

Dick scuffled into his with delight, and tied the sou’-wester under his chin, turning the next minute to see his brother, and stamp on the floor with delight.

“Oh! look at Taff, father; he does look such a Guy Fawkes.”

Arthur turned upon him fiercely, and it suddenly occurred to Dick that he was in precisely the same costume; but he only laughed the more as, well equipped to meet the storm, they started for the beach.

“It’s ridiculous,” said Arthur, in tones of disgust, as they walked down towards the harbour under the lee of the houses. “There was no need to put on these wretched stiff things.”

Almost as the words left his lips they passed the last house, and—

Bang!—boom!—swirl!

A large wave struck the shore on a boulder slope and sent a deluge of water across the road, to strike the rock on the other side, and run back like a stream.

Arthur, was sent staggering, and would have fallen but for his father’s hand; and all three, but for their shiny garb, would have been soaked from head to foot.

“Oh, here’s a game!” cried Dick. “I say, Taff—run—run—here comes another.”

They escaped part of the wave, but Dick had his weather ear full, and the sea-water and foam streamed down their backs as they stood in the shelter of a bit of cliff.

“Well, Arthur, what do you say to your oilskins now?” said Mr Temple.

“They’re dreadfully stiff, father, and the boots are too large,” said Arthur ungraciously. “Hadn’t we better get back?”

Poor Arthur repented his words most bitterly as soon as he had spoken them, for there was a hard light going on in the boy’s mind. Naturally very conceited, he had had the misfortune to be made the head of a little set at his school—a little set, for they were rather small boys, who looked up to him,—and dressed at him as far as they could, the effect being to make him more conceited still, and think his brother rough and common in his ways.

All this had been pointed out to Mr Temple, who, however, had seen it for himself, and he only said, smiling:

“It will all settle itself. These little spines will get knocked off by contact with the world. Besides which I hope that he will find out for himself the way to grow into a manly man.”

Mr Temple was quite right, and Arthur was beginning to discover that, where his brother was met with a genial smile by all whom he encountered, he, who was particular and precise and, as he considered it, gentlemanly in his ways, was either not noticed, or met with merely the coldest reception.

He was learning too that a man—especially an Englishman, whether gentle or simple—born in the lap of luxury, as people call it, or in the humblest cot, must be one who will always keep up the credit of the nation at large by being thoroughly English; and this brings one to the question—while the storm is raging on the Cornish coast, and Arthur Temple is in his glistening oilskins walking stiffly and awkwardly, and wincing beneath his father’s look, which said as plainly as look could speak, “If you are afraid you can go back;”—this brings one to the task of stating what one means by being thoroughly English, so let us set down here, something approaching one’s ideas of what an English lad should be.

Courageous of course, full of that sturdy determination not to be beaten, and when beaten, so far from being disheartened that he is ready to try again, whether in a fight, a battle with a difficulty, or in any failure.

Honest in his striving for what he knows to be right, and ready to maintain it against all odds, especially of such enemies as banter or ridicule, self-indulgence or selfishness.

That is enough: for so many wonderful little veins will start from those two trunks, that, given a boy who is courageous and honest, or who makes himself so, it would be almost an impossibility for him to turn out a bad, mean, and cowardly man.

And pray don’t imagine, you who read this, that by a cowardly man or boy I mean one who is afraid to take off his jacket and roll up his sleeves and fight with his fists. I mean quite a different kind of coward—the one who is afraid of himself and lets self rule him, giving up to every indulgence because it goes a little against the grain, and Arthur Temple is walking uncomfortably in his oilskins because they don’t look nice. The storm is raging, and he is still smarting under the belief that his father thinks him contemptible and cowardly, physically cowardly. And all the time, though the tears are rising in his eyes, and the wind is deafening him, and the spray beating in his face so that his tears are not seen, he is proving that, under his varnish, he is made of the right stuff. For even as he battled with self in the boat when conger-fishing, he is fighting the good fight again, has set his teeth, and has made a sort of vow that no one shall say he has not as much pluck as his brother Dick.

There is little work done at a fishing village when a storm comes down. Going to sea is impossible, and men don’t care to be mending or making nets when at any moment they may have to be helping to haul up a boat into a safer place, or to drag in a spar, or plank, or timber, that has been washed ashore.

Then, too, there is the look-out kept for ships or boats in distress—perhaps to lend a helping hand; if not, to look on with sympathetic eyes and a thankful prayer at heart that they are in safety, as they think of home, and wife, and child.

Mr Temple was not a violent angry man. His punishments to his boys were conveyed in looks, and one look sufficed. When that look had been given there was an end to the matter; and on this occasion, after Arthur had been made to wince, his petulant display of fear was put back in the past.

“Boys,” he cried, “I would not like to have missed this scene. How awful and how grand!”

They were standing in the shelter of a pilchard house, one of the long buildings where these silvery, oily relatives of the herring are salted before being pressed in barrels and sent away to the Mediterranean ports by hundreds of tons every year. The building took the brunt of the roaring wind and spray torn from the huge billows that thundered in and raced up the beach, and pounded the rocks, so that the spectators could gaze at the wild chaos of tossing waves, and watch the heaped-up waters as they dashed in like some savage army, whose aim was to tear down the rocky barriers of our isle and sweep all away.

In the harbour lay the luggers, and a good-sized brig, and a steam-tug that had brought it in after missing Corn town; and as the great waves came with a spang upon the stone pier, and leaped over the lanterns, and poured down tons of spray upon their decks, they rocked and groaned as they rubbed together, and in spite of mooring ropes a sharp crack now and then told of damages to be repaired.

The cliff glistened with oilskin-clad men, many of whom bore long, clumsy telescopes, while others in great high boots, and with their sou’-westers tied beneath their chins, walked amongst the foam, a coil of strong rope upon their shoulders, and a boat-hook in hand, ready for anything in the way of flotsam and jetsam that might come ashore.

Already they had drawn up the mast of a lugger with its ropes and blocks, telling tales of some misfortune at sea.

A barrel or two had come ashore; and as Dick watched, he saw one man run out after a wave, catch at something, miss it, and then get hold of a rope, with which he ran ashore.

Directly after they saw another figure leave a companion and run in after a retiring wave, the foam knee-deep, and catch at something else which came slowly.

“Mind, mind!” cried Dick excitedly; “the wave! the wave!”

Arthur gave a gasp and ran right out towards where the figure, fully a hundred yards away, was clinging to something that looked brown against the white foam, and apparently heedless of the fact that a tremendous wave was racing in.

His comrade saw it though and ran to his help, catching hold of the great brown tangle, and then turning with the other to escape.

They hardly did it, for the huge wave curled over just behind them with a boom like thunder, and swept them up towards the shore amidst the foam.

They would have been carried back, but a dozen hands were outstretched and they and their prize were run up out of danger, where, for the next ten minutes, the little party were busy hauling in what proved to be an immense length of pilchard drift-net, with its corks, and buoys, and ropes, which formed a goodly heap when they had done.

Out seaward there was nothing visible but the tossing waves, and it was with a sense of relief that the boys saw that there was no prospect of any wreck beyond that of the fishing-boat that had been dashed to pieces upon some rock.

“Here! hi!” cried Dick, excitedly. “Why, it’s Will! Was it you who ran in after that net?” he continued, as the lad came up.

“Yes, Master Dick; Josh helped me,” said Will, smiling. “There’s two or three hundred fathom.”

“But was it not very risky, my lad?” said Mr Temple, shouting like the others, for the noise made by the sea was deafening.

“Risky, sir? Oh! you mean the waves! There were plenty there to lend a hand, and if we’d been caught they’d have thrown us a rope,” said Will, simply.

“Some boat has been lost, hasn’t there?” cried Dick, excitedly.

“Saint Ives boat, we think,” said Will; “and a timber ship has been wrecked somewhere out Lizard way. There’ll be a lot of balks and planks come ashore, the men think.”

“I say, Will, is it often as bad as this?” said Arthur eagerly.

“Yes, sir, very often,” replied Will. “Old Pollard thinks it will be worse to-night. I should go down to yonder house, sir, if I was you; the young gentlemen would be more in shelter, and you could see the wreck wood come in and the men draw it up, better there, for it’s nearer to the sea.”

“How do you know it will come there?” said Dick hastily.

“The current. Tide washes it up. We always find wreck come about there.”

Will hurried away, his mission being to fetch another boat-hook; and taking the hint, Mr Temple and his boys made a dash across the rock and sand to the pilchard-house further east, the wind blowing in a furious squall now, and just as they were half-way, battling against the spray that cut their faces till they tingled, their numbers were diminished one third, though Mr Temple did not know it, and then two thirds.

He had bidden his boys follow him closely, and then with bent head run forward, Dick and Arthur following as fast as their stiff clumsy garb would allow; but just as they were half-way and were caught by the full force of the gale, Arthur, who was last, made a swerve, gave way a little more and a little more, and then was literally carried shoreward by the gale in a staggering run, for he had found it impossible to resist its force.

“Don’t it blow!” panted Dick. “Lean your head over towards it, Taff, and then it won’t cut your face. Come along.”

He spoke loudly, but every word was swept away by the wind; and if sounds do not melt away, his were taken straight over England and the North Sea to Denmark, and then over the Baltic to the Russ’s land.

“Here, give me your hand, Taff,” he cried directly after, and turning a little more he held out his hand to lend his brother a little help.

Confused and deafened as he was by the storm himself, he burst out into a roar of laughter at the sight of his brother literally running before the wind in the most comically absurd manner, till, finding a dry spot, he flung himself down in the soft sand, sad clung there with all his might while Dick scudded to him and plumped down at his side.

“Here’s a game!” he roared into Arthur’s ear.

“A game!” faltered the latter; “very—dread—ful—isn’t it?”

“No,” shouted Dick. “It’s all right. Come along. No, no. Turn your back to it.”

“The rain cuts so,” panted Arthur.

“’Tain’t rain; it’s spray. Hook hold tight,” cried Dick. “Ahoy! Coming!” he shouted, wasting his breath, for it was impossible for Mr Temple to hear. “Here comes father after us. Now then, stoop down and let’s do it. Whoo! Knees.”

They threw themselves on their knees to avoid being swept away, for just then a sudden puff came with such violence that, as Dick afterwards described the sensation, it was like being pushed with a big ball of india-rubber.

Mr Temple came with the rush of wind, and as he stopped beside his boys he confessed that it was as much as he could do to keep his legs.

It was only for a few moments that the storm had such tremendous force. Then it lulled a little, and taking advantage of the comparative calm, Mr Temple took hold of his boys’ hands, and the three with bended heads trotted towards the shelter on ahead.

They had not been long under the lee of the pilchard-house before they saw Will return and stand with Josh and some more of the fishermen just beyond the reach of the waves. Then first one and then another made a rush at what looked at a distance like a piece of wood, tossed here and there by the great billows. Into this they struck the boat-hook, and ran with it shoreward, the piece of wood which looked so small proving to be a deal that was a pretty good weight for two men to carry.

Quite a stack of these were dragged from the waves, some perfectly uninjured, others snapped in two, others again twisted and torn asunder, leaving long ragged threads of fibre, while others again were regularly beaten by the waves and rocks, so that the ends were like bunches of wood gnawed by some monster into shreds.

They went back to dinner and returned towards evening, Uncle Abram giving it as his opinion that the worst of the gale was not over yet, and pointing to the glass that hung in the passage for corroboration.

“Lower than she’s been for months,” said the old gentleman. “I hope no ship won’t get caught in the bay.”

Boom, bom!

“What’s that?” cried Mr Temple quickly.

“It’s what I hoped would not happen, sir,” said the old man, taking off his hat; “a ship in distress, and may—”

He did not finish his sentence aloud, but closed his eyes, and they saw his lips move for a few moments, before, clapping on his hat again, he cried:

“Let’s go down to the beach, sir. ’Tisn’t likely, but we might be able to do some good. Ah! there she is speaking again.”

Boom, bom!

The hoarse echoing report of a large gun heard plainly above the roar of the storm, and hastily putting on his great yellow oilskin coat, old Uncle Abram led the way towards the shore.

Chapter Twenty Eight.

A Brave Act for a Daring Man may be Heroism in a Gallant Boy.

“There she is, Master Dickard, sir,” shouted Josh, as the little party reached the shore down by the pilchard-house, and he pointed out over the foaming sea.

“I can see nothing but mist,” said Dick excitedly.

“That’s the foam,” said Josh; “but I can see her plain—three-master—quite a big ship.”

“Will she get into the harbour, Josh?” said Dick, with his lips to the fisherman’s ear.

Josh looked at him solemnly and then shook his head.

“One of our luggers couldn’t do it, Master Dick, with a wind like this, let alone a big ship.”

“What will happen then?” cried Dick excitedly.

“Rocks—go on the Six Pins, I should say. That’s where the current’ll take her—eh, master?”

Uncle Abram was holding his long telescope against the corner of the pilchard-house, and gazing attentively through it at the distant ship.

“No, Josh, my lad,” he said; “there’s too much water on the Six Pins even for her. She’ll come clear o’ them and right on to Black Point.”

“And then?” said Mr Temple anxiously.

“We shall do what we can with the rocket-line if the masts hold good for a bit, sir.”

“But a boat—a life-boat!”

Uncle Abram shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.

“Soon as that first gun was heard, sir, there was a man got on a horse and went over the hills to Corntown, where the life-boat lies, and they’ll come over as fast as horses can draw the carriage; but it will take them a long time to get over along the rough road, and when they do get her here, where she’s to be launched I can’t tell.”

Mr Temple and his sons looked about the bay at the tremendous breakers that were forming, as it were, a frame of foam. Even the entrance to the harbour was marked by the waves that leaped against the pier.

“I can’t see the ship, father,” whispered Dick in an awe-stricken voice, as he handed back the glass, whose bottom was dimmed with spray the moment he put it to his eyes.

“There—there,” said Will hoarsely, as he pointed out to sea.

“No, I can’t see it,” said Dick again.

“Can you see the Bird Rock—the Mew Rock, where we caught the conger?” said Will hastily, and with his lips close to Dick’s face.

“Yes.”

“Then fix your eyes there, and then look straight from there to the old mine-shaft on the hill.”

“Yes—yes,” cried Dick. “I can see a mast all amongst the spray; and it’s coming on this way.”

“To destruction,” said Mr Temple to himself, as he too now caught sight of the unfortunate vessel driving towards the rocks slowly and surely, and once more the crew drew attention to their peril by firing a signal-gun.

It is one of the most terribly painful positions in which a man can be placed, to see his fellow-creatures slowly drifting into what is almost certain death without being able to stretch out a hand to save.

There was no need to warn the crew of their danger; they knew that but too well, for the great grey rocks were in front of them with the breakers at their feet; and as the excitement increased Will caught Dick’s arm.

“They’re getting out the rocket-lines,” he said, shouting into Dick’s ear. “Come and see.”

The wind and spray were forgotten, as the men, headed by a couple of coastguard, drew a truck along the sands and through the pools of water towards a spot to the left of where they stood, and just beyond the place where the seine was drawn in and the shark captured. To Dick it seemed as if the men were going away, from the place where they were likely to be of any help to the crew of the ship; but the fishermen knew what they were about, and old Mr Marion, who was as excited as any one present, came up to shout out his opinions.

“She’ll come ashore on the Black Fin,” he said. “The other side of the buoy. You watch her, and you’ll see.”

In spite of the driving foam and the salt rain formed by the spray cut from the tops of the waves, the vessel could now be plainly seen labouring and tossing among the great billows which grew heavier and grander the nearer the unfortunate vessel came to the shore, and Dick began to realise now how a ship could be safer a thousand miles from land in the heaviest hurricane than among the breakers upon our rocky coast.

The beating rain and wind then were forgotten as the rocket-cart came up, and Mr Temple and his sons staggered after it, Josh laying hold of one of Dick’s arms, Will of the other, while old Marion and Mr Temple were on either side of Arthur, who wondered how the wind could thunder so heavily in his ears.

Dick had a misty sort of idea that a rope would be shot out to the wreck, and that the men would come along it ashore, but how it was to be done he could not tell. Had the storm been twice as heavy, though, he would have gone to see, and he pressed eagerly forward till, with his companions, he was close up to the cart, waiting for the ship to strike.

On she came through the foam, closer and closer, every mast standing, but the sails that had been set torn to rags, that streamed out like tattered pennons, and whipped and beat about the yards. Men on the shore ran here and there and shouted to each other to do impossibilities. Some got under the lee of rocks to use their glasses, but only to close them again and hurry to gain their excited companions, who were standing with coils of rope over their shoulders, and one arm through the ring, shouting again with their hands to their mouths, and one who had a speaking-trumpet roared some unintelligible order through it to the wind that cast it back into his face.

“Will the life-boat come in time?” said Mr Temple to Josh; but the fisherman did not speak nor turn to the questioner: he only shook his head.

All at once every one stood still. The excitement seemed to be at an end. Heads were bent forward, eyes were shaded, and one impulse seemed to have moved the scattered crowd upon the foaming beach, and those who were standing knee-deep amongst the rushing sea-froth that ran up beyond them to the sand.

“Look!” shouted Josh, without turning his head; and he pointed with his sound arm out to sea.

Dick, Arthur, and Mr Temple strained their eyes to catch signs of what the fisherman meant as they saw the vessel rising and falling, and seeming to glide slowly on, till all at once, in the midst of the dense rain of spray, the vessel rose, as it were, to make a leap, and then charged down a hill of waters, stopped short, and seemed to shiver. Then her tall main-mast fell forward, apparently snapped off close to the deck, carrying with it the fore-mast; while the mizen, that had been sloping slightly backward, now leaned over toward the shore.

“Fast on the Black Fin,” cried Josh, with his hands to his mouth, and a shiver of horror ran through Dick and his brother as they realised what all this meant.

There was no time lost on the beach now, for in the midst of the crowd the rocket-cart was run down as far as was possible, the tube laid ready, the case with its line placed in position, and then away with a rush, and a stream of dull, almost invisible sparks sped the rocket with its line, whose destination was the far side of the ill-fated ship.

There was a cry from the men who were watching the flight of the line-bearer.

“Short, short!” And as the boys watched with parted lips, and eyes half-blinded with the spray, they saw the line rapidly hauled in and laid ready for another flight.

It took some time, during which those on shore could just make out the crew of the ship clustering about the stern of the vessel and on the mizen-mast.

All was ready at last, and once more a rocket was sent flying with the same result, its flight too short to reach the ship.

“I knowed it—I knowed it!” roared Josh between his hands. “There’s only one way.”

A little crowd collected about Josh, and for a short space there was hurried gesticulation, and old Marion seemed to be declaiming to the men.

All at once the boys saw Will back out of the crowd with Josh and wave his hand to them, after which every one set off rapidly round the curve of the bay to where the sands ceased and the shore was piled-up rocks, a reef of which ran right out to the vessel, which was fast on an isolated rock at the end.

They were farther from the ship now than before—probably double the distance; but the reef formed a breakwater, and in its lee, though it seemed almost madness, it was just possible that a boat might live.

“They’re going to launch a boat and take out a line,” shouted old Marion in Mr Temple’s ear. “It breaks my heart, Master Temple, but he’s light and strong, and a good rower, and Josh won’t go alone.”

“Is Will going?” cried Dick excitedly.

“Yes—yes,” shouted the old man: “there’s fellow-creatures’ lives at stake; and at such a time a seafaring man can’t say no.”

What took place seemed to Dick afterwards like the events in some wild dream; but in the midst of the excitement and confusion he saw a small broad-beamed boat run down a pebbly slope, and that a line was coiled in her. Five men, it seemed, jumped into her as she was thrust off, the men wading out as far as they could to give impetus to the craft before they sprang in. Then the cockle-shell of a boat seemed to be lifted right up to the top of a wave, and then to plunge down out of sight; and as Dick watched for her reappearance, and noted that the line was held by the men ashore, as he had noted that there was some one in the stern of the boat who kept paying out that line, he realised that the boy was Will, and it seemed again more than ever to be a dream.