Fire Island Part 67

"Shall I be doing wisely in going forward after all?" he said to himself, and he hesitated as he thought of one of the main objects of his being there--to try and let poor Wriggs know that he was not forsaken and that help would soon be at hand.

"My voice can never be heard in all that din," he said to himself, and before going farther he uttered a loud shout, and listened to the echoes, one of which struck him as being so peculiar that he shouted again with the repet.i.tion sounding even more peculiar.

His heart began to throb and his hopes to rise, for he felt convinced that the "ahoy" was an answer to his call, and in a wild fit of excitement and joy he said to himself,--

"It must be. Now, let's try if it is after all only an Irish echo."

"Ahoy!" he cried. "Where are you?"

There was utter silence for a few moments, and then he heard a cry sounding so wild and strange that it seemed to freeze the very marrow in his bones.

CHAPTER FORTY TWO.

A LONELY VIGIL.

Oliver was too much startled for a few moments to move or speak. Then making an effort to master his dread, "It's an Irish echo," he said.

"Poor Wriggs, he is making his way towards me. Ahoy! this way."

"Comin' sir," came plainly enough now, but directly after every echo seemed again blurred and confused like a picture reflected in agitated water. But the sound was certainly very near, and each shout and answer came closer, till at last the man's steps were plainly heard in a slow shuffling fashion, as he evidently carefully extended one foot and then drew the other up to join it.

"Where are you?" cried Oliver at last, for the steps were now very close, and his voice, like the man's, sounded strange and confused by the repet.i.tions from roof, wall, and water.

"Clost here!"

"Hold out your hand," cried Oliver, as he extended his own. "Ha!

That's good," he said, with his heart leaping for joy at the warm strong grasp he received. "Thank Heaven you are safe!"

"Thank-ye, Mr Oliver Lane, sir. But my word it are black, Hold of a coalin' screw's nothing to it."

"Where were you?" said Oliver, as he clung to the man's hand.

"Oh, clost along here by the waterside, sir."

"But did you fall in? No; you are not wet."

"Oh, no, sir, I never fell. I'm dry enough."

"Then how came you to hang behind, and cause all this trouble and alarm?"

"'Cause company's good, they says, if you're going to be hanged; and as you wasn't, sir, I 'adn't the 'art to let you stop all alone here in the dark."

"Why, it isn't Wriggs, then?"

"Nay, sir, that's for sartin, I on'y wish as how it was."

"Why, Smith, my good fellow! Then you stopped back to keep me company?"

"That's so, sir, and I thought it would be best. You see it'll be bad enough for two on us to wait, but for one all alone in a coal-cellar like this, it's too horful I says to myself, and so I just hung back, and here I am, sir."

"Oh, Smith, my good fellow!" cried Oliver, who felt moved at the man's act.

"It's all right, sir. You and me can talk about birds as you've skinned, and about some o' those tomt.i.t and sparrer things as I've seen about, and meant to shoot for yer some day. And when we're tired o'

that, we can ask riddles and sing a song or two, or play at chucking one stone at another, or into the water. It won't be so much like being all alone in the coal-cellar, shut up for a naughty boy as I used to be when I was a little 'un."

"Smith, I can never feel grateful enough for this," cried Oliver.

"Gammon, sir; Pretty sort of a chap I should be if I hadn't ha' been ready to stop and keep a gent like you comp'ny a bit. Don't you say no more about that there, sir."

"I must, Smith, I must," said Oliver, huskily.

"Then I shall be off till you've done, sir; and you'll have to say it to the heckers as allus answers, 'Where'?"

Oliver pressed the man's hand, and Smith gave a sigh of relief.

"Any use to offer you a bit o' good pig-tail, sir?" he said. "Werry comfortin' at a time like this."

"No, thank you, Smith, I don't chew."

"I doos," said Smith, giving a grunt or two, which was followed by the click of the knife being shut after using it to cut a quid, and then by the sharp snap of a bra.s.s tobacco box. "Werry bad habit, sir, but I don't seem able to leave it off. I say, sir, what about poor old Billy?

Don't say as you think he's drowned."

"No, no, I hope and pray not," said Oliver.

"That's right, sir. I don't believe he is. Stoopid chuckle brain sort o' chap in some things; and talk about a bull being obstinit, why, it would take a hundred bulls biled down to produce enough obst'nacy to make one Billy Wriggs. He wouldn't get drowned; I've known him tumble out o' the rigging over and over, and be upset out of a boat, but he's only picked his self up and clambered in again, and been hauled into the boat when he was upset. While one day when he were washed overboard-- and I thought he had gone that time, for you couldn't ha' lowered a boat in such a sea--I'm blessed if another big wave didn't come and wash him back again, landing him over the p.o.o.p so wet as you might ha' wrung him out wonderful clean, and if he'd only had a week's beard off, he'd ha'

looked quite the gentleman."

"Poor fellow, we must save him somehow."

"Tchah! Don't you be down-hearted, sir, you see if he don't turn up all right again. Reg'lar bad shillin' Billy is. Why, you see how he went on when he went up the mountain and into holes and over 'em and into hot water. He allus comes out square. He can't help it. No savage couldn't kill Billy no matter what he did, and as for this here game-- oh, he'll be all right."

"I hope so, Smith," said Oliver, with a sigh.

"Well, sir, it don't sound as if yer did. You spoke in a tone o' woice as seemed to say I hope he's jolly well drowned."

"I can't help feeling low-spirited, Smith."

"Course you can't, sir, but you just cheer up and I'll try and tell you a yarn o' some kind."

"No, no: not now."

"But I feel as if I'd like to, sir, a reg'lar good out an' outer--a stiff 'un, cause just when I got to the biggest whopper in it, I should expect to hear Billy behind my back in that solemn and serus woice of his a-saying, 'Speak the truth, Tommy, speak the truth.'"

"If I could think that, Smith, I'd say go on, but I cannot. Here, let's talk about him and his accident."

"I don't think there's been no accident, sir, yer see he aren't a haccidental sort o' chap."