Roger Trewinion Part 9

"Let me go with you. Is it a large one?"

"No, and I am afraid that my friend's child is in her."

"What child?"

"Did you see that horseman this morning, Roger?"

"Yes, father."

"He came to tell me that an old friend was dead, and that in his last hours he had expressed a wish that I should take care of his child."

"Yes, father; what then?"

"She started to come here by boat, and should have arrived in our little landing-place by this. Hark! that's another signal for help.

Come, Roger; where's Wilfred."

"Wilfred cannot help on such a night as this, especially as his brother hurt him so yesterday," said my mother, who had just come into the room.

"Come, let us go alone, then, Roger," said my father.

We hurried down to the little harbour, where a dozen hardy Cornishmen were preparing to launch a boat on the angry sea.

"Not gone yet, men?" said my father.

"No, Maaster Trewinion, and ted'n no good. We should be knocked to pieces in two minutes," said one.

"But we're goin' to have a try," said another.

It was, indeed, a dangerous undertaking. The seas were now rising up like great hills and again falling into deep valleys. It seemed impossible for a boat to live.

"We ca'ant do no good," said the first speaker.

"But they've signalled for help," said the second, "and I ca'ant stand that!"

As he spoke we heard a sound like a crack of a musket, which faintly reached us above the roar of wind and wave.

"We'll man the biggest boat somehow," said my father. "Come here, everyone; who will go with Roger and me?"

To the honour of the brave Cornish boys, a crew was ready in a minute.

We jumped into the boat and soon were out in the boiling surf.

"Hold your oars firmly," cried my father, "now, then, pull while you may, the storm is rising every minute."

Bravely those n.o.ble lads strained and tugged; but it was terrible work.

We were tossed about as though the boat in which we sat were a chip or a bit of cork.

For a minute no word was spoken. Every man breathed hard, and laboured with all his strength, while my father watched, grasping the rudder in his hand. Time after time I thought we should have been thrown into the sea, but luckily we caught no side winds.

Presently we heard my father's deep voice:

"I see her," he cried. "My G.o.d, she's going straight upon the 'Devil's Tooth.'"

The "Devil's Tooth" was one of the most dangerous rocks on the coast.

It was called "devil's tooth" because it was thought to possess evil power, and because it had been the means of wrecking many vessels as they tried to get into our harbour.

He had scarcely spoken when we heard a most awful crash. It was far louder than the roar of the storm, and immediately afterwards we fancied we caught the cry of people in distress.

"There, it's on! Pull!" cried my father, "we may reach them yet. G.o.d help and preserve us all."

Every man pulled with all his might towards the great rock with the terrible name.

"The great G.o.d will help us," said one solemnly.

"Amen," cried the rest; "but this is terrible."

Meanwhile, inch by inch, we drew nearer to the doomed vessel.

CHAPTER IV

THE WRECK ON THE "DEVIL'S TOOTH."

At the best of times the rock called the "Devil's Tooth" was by no means beautiful. It stood with five points towering into the air like the p.r.o.ngs of a great tooth, and at its feet were scores of smaller rocks, mostly hidden by the water.

Strange stories have been told about it. Some have said that on stormy nights emissaries of Satan sit there, and lure vessels on to destruction; but at the time I had no thought for such stories. The terrible crash of the vessel was still echoing in my ears, and, in my fancy, I heard above the howling of the storm the shrieks of the perishing.

We could not see much. The moon was full, but had been hidden by the clouds. Only by the light of the storm, which was nearly darkness, could we perceive anything. I know that my words are almost paradoxical, but I can express my meaning in no better way. Still, our eyes were accustomed to the darkness of a storm, and thus both my father and I had some idea of what we were doing.

Slowly we made our way. Carefully my father sought to evade unnecessary danger.

It was terrible work. Now we were lifted on the pinnacle of a wave, and again we sank deep in dark gulfs, until I thought we should never rise again. But every man was strong and hardy, every man had braved a dozen storms, and so we struggled on.

But for my father's thorough knowledge of the coast we must have perished. With his knowledge there was hope. Suddenly we found ourselves in comparatively smooth water and out of the beat of the wind. We had shot into the "lew" (sheltered) side of the rock, and were able for a moment to rest.

"She is just around the point," said my father.

"Iss, Maaster Trewinion," was the reply.

"The question is, How can we get to them?" said my father. "If we try to get our boat around there it means death for all of us. The only means of saving the poor souls, if they are not all gone already, is for us to scale the rock here and make our way to those on board. Then they might be brought here one by one."

"You see'd her break on the rock didn' 'ee, Maaster Trewinion?" said one.

"Yes," replied my father, "she broke close against the long p.r.o.ng."

"Then ef she edn't gone to pieces there may be hope," replied the man; "but who can climb up here?"