Shifting Winds: A Tough Yarn Part 3

Furby did not struggle. He had been rendered insensible by the shock, and although several ropes were thrown to him, and one actually fell over him, he could make no effort to save himself, as the waves rolled him insh.o.r.e and sucked him back again.

At this moment the sound of horses' hoofs was heard on the sands, and my young friend Kenneth Stuart dashed past us, at full gallop, into the sea!

Kenneth was a splendid and a fearless rider. He kept the finest horses in the neighbourhood. On this occasion he was mounted on a large strong chestnut, which he had trained to gallop into a foaming surf.

Checking his pace suddenly, when about knee-deep in the foam, he took up such a position that the next billow would wash the drowning man within his reach.

The wave came on. When about a hundred yards from the spot where the young horseman stood, it fell with a prolonged roar, and the foam came sweeping in like a white wall, with the dark form of Furby tossing in the midst. The sea rushed furiously upon horse and rider, and the terrified horse, rearing almost perpendicular, wheeled round towards the land. At the same instant the c.o.xswain was hurled against them.

Kenneth seized the mane of his steed with one hand, and grasping Furby with the other, held on. The n.o.ble charger, swept irresistibly landward, made frantic efforts to regain his footing, and partially succeeded before the full force of the retreating water bore back upon him.

For one moment he stood quivering with the strength of his effort.

Kenneth was very strong, else he had never maintained his grasp on the collar of the c.o.xswain.

A moment more, and the horse made a plunge forward; then a dozen hands caught him by bridle and saddle-girth, and almost dragged the trio out of the sea, while a loud cheer greeted their deliverance.

I ordered four stout men to carry the c.o.xswain to Gaff's cottage, remaining behind for a few minutes in order to congratulate my young friend on his escape and success, as well as to see that no other wrecks had occurred in the neighbourhood. Having satisfied myself as best I could on this latter point, I was about to proceed to the cottage when Kenneth came forward, leading his good horse by the bridle, and offered his disengaged arm to my niece.

Lizzie thanked him and declined, observing that, after his gallant and successful rescue of Furby, he must himself stand in need of a.s.sistance, or something to that effect. I cannot say what his reply was, but I observed that she immediately afterwards took the proffered arm, and we all walked up to the hut together.

On reaching it we met Kenneth's groom coming out, he having failed, as has been shown, to make any impression on the Russians with his Turkish!

I found the place completely filled with men and women, the latter being in a state of great excitement.

"Here's the agent! make way, lads! here comes Cap'n Bingley," several voices exclaimed as I entered.

Going to the bed and seeing how matters stood with poor Furby, who had been placed on his back, I ordered the people to leave the hut, and had the half-drowned man turned instantly on his face. The other half-drowned man, having recovered, was lying on a blanket before the fire.

"Clear the room, lads," said I firmly, "the man wants fresh air; open the window, and take these wrecked men up to the Home in town.

Everything is prepared for them there, hot coffee and beds, and a hearty welcome. Away with you, now; carry those who can't walk."

With the a.s.sistance of Kenneth and his man the hut was soon cleared, only a few being allowed to remain to aid me in my efforts to recover the c.o.xswain.

"You see," said I, as I rolled Furby gently and continuously from his face to his side, in order to produce what I may term artificial breathing, "it is not good to lay a half-drowned man on his back, because his tongue will fall into his throat, and prevent the very thing we want to bring about, namely, respiration. Go to the foot of the bed, Kenneth, put your hands under the blankets, and chafe his legs with hot flannel. Hold the smelling salts to his nose, Lizzie. That's it, now.

Mrs Gaff, put more hot bottles about him; see, he begins to breathe already."

As I spoke the mysterious vital spark in the man began to revive, and ere long the quivering eyelids and short fitful gasps indicated that "Uncle John," as the c.o.xswain of the lifeboat was styled by the household, had recovered. We gave him a teaspoonful or two of hot coffee when he was able to swallow, and then prepared to take our leave.

I observed, while I was busy with Furby, that my niece took Mrs Gaff aside, and appeared to be talking to her very earnestly. Lizzie was a lovely girl. She was tall and slightly formed, with rich brown hair and a dark clear complexion that might have been almost styled Spanish, but for the roses which bloomed on her cheeks. I could not help admiring the strong contrast between her and the fair face and portly figure of worthy Mrs Gaff, who listened to what she said with an air of deep respect.

Little Tottie had taken Lizzie's hand in both of hers, and was looking up in her face, and the boy Billy was gazing at her with open-mouthed admiration. I observed, too, that Kenneth Stuart was gazing at her with such rapt attention that I had to address him several times before he heard me!

This I was not surprised at, for I remember to this day the feelings of pleasure with which I beheld my pretty niece, when, having lost her father and mother, poor dear! she came to find a home under my roof, and it was natural she should inspire admiration in a young man like Kenneth.

My family and the Stuarts had become acquainted only a few weeks before the events of which I am now writing, and this was the first time that the young people had met. They were not altogether unknown to each other, however, for Lizzie had heard of Kenneth from the fishermen, who used to speak with interest of his horsemanship and his daring feats in rescuing drowning people from the sea during the storms that so frequently visited our coast, and Kenneth had heard of Lizzie, also from the fishermen, amongst whom she was a frequent visitor, especially when sickness entered their cots, or when the storm made their wives widows, and their little ones fatherless.

I had set my heart on seeing these two married. My dear wife, for the first time in her life I believe, thoroughly agreed with me in this wish. I mention the fact with unalloyed pleasure, as being what I may term a sunny memory, a bright spot, in a life of subdued though true happiness. We neither of us suspected at that time what bitter opposition to our wishes we were to receive from Kenneth's father, who, although in many respects a good man, was very stern--unpleasantly stern.

Having done all that could be done for the wrecked people, Lizzie and I returned to our residence in Wreck.u.moft at about four in the morning.

Kenneth insisted on walking with us, sending his man home with his horse, which Lizzie patted on the neck, and called a n.o.ble creature. It was quite evident that Kenneth wished that he himself was his own horse on that occasion--so evident that Lizzie blushed, and taking my arm hurriedly urged me to go home as it was "very late."

"Very early would be more correct, my dear," said I, "for it is past four. You must be tired, Lizzie; it is wrong in me to allow you to subject yourself to such storms. Give her your arm, Kenneth."

"If Miss Gordon will accept of it," said the youth approaching her promptly, "I shall be--"

"No, thank you," said Lizzie, interrupting him and clinging closer to me; "I am not in the least tired, and your a.s.sistance is quite sufficient, uncle."

I must confess to being surprised at this, for it was quite evident to me that Kenneth admired Lizzie, and I was pretty certain--so was my dear wife--that Lizzie admired Kenneth, although of course she never gave us the slightest hint to that effect, and it seemed to me such a good and reasonable opportunity for--well, well, I need not bore you, reader, with my wild ideas, so peculiarly adapted it would seem for the twentieth century--suffice it to say, that I _was_ surprised. But if truth must be told, I have always lived in a state of surprise in regard to the thoughts and actions of women, and on this particular night I was doomed to the unpleasant surprise of being received with a sharp rebuke from Mrs Bingley, who roundly a.s.serted that she would stand this sort of thing no longer. That she had no notion of being disturbed at such unearthly hours by the noisy advent of a disagreeably damp and cold husband, and that if I intended to continue to be an agent of the Shipwrecked Mariners' Society, she would insist upon a separate maintenance!

I was comforted, however, by finding a good fire and a hot cup of coffee in the parlour for myself and Lizzie, provided by our invaluable housekeeper, Susan Barepoles, a girl who was worthy of a better name, being an active, good-looking, cheerful la.s.s. She was the daughter of the skipper of one of our coal sloops, named Haco Barepoles, a man of excellent disposition, but gifted with such a superabundance of animal spirits, courage, and recklessness, that he was known in the port of Wreck.u.moft as Mad Haco.

Much exhausted by one of the hardest nights of toil and exposure I ever spent, I retired to my room and sought and found repose.

CHAPTER FIVE.

THE BREAKFAST PARTY AT SEASIDE VILLA.

The morning after the storm was bright and beautiful. The breakers, indeed, were still thundering on the sh.o.r.e, but otherwise the sea was calm, and the sun shone into the breakfast parlour of Seaside Villa with a degree of intensity that might have warmed the heart of an oyster. It certainly warmed the heart of the household cat, which, being an early riser, was first down-stairs, and lay at full length on the rug, enjoying at once the heat of the glowing fire which tinged its brown back with red, and the blazing sun which turned its white breast yellow.

Presently a dark cloud entered the room. It sat on the brow of George Stuart, Esquire, of Wreck.u.moft, the head of the family. Mr Stuart walked up to the fire and turned his back to it, as if to offer it a deliberate insult, while yet he accepted all the benefit it could afford him on that cold December morning.

The cat being in his way, he moved it out of his way with his foot. He did it roughly, but he did not exactly kick it, for he was not a cruel, or naturally unkind man.

Having disposed of the cat, and looked twice at his watch, and blown his nose three times--the last twice unnecessarily--Mr Stuart rang the bell with violence.

Mrs Niven entered.

"Why is breakfast not ready?" said the master with asperity.

"Breakfast _is_ ready, sir," replied the housekeeper with dignity.

"Where is my sister, then, and the rest of them?" The questioner was partly answered by the abrupt and somewhat flurried entrance of the sister referred to.

"What's the meaning of this, Peppy?" demanded Mr Stuart with a frown.

"My dear George," said Miss Peppy, bustling about actively, "I really _am_ sorry, but you know things can't always be just as one would wish, and then when things _do_ turn out occasionally as one would _not_ wish, and as one had no expectation of, and, so to speak, without consulting one at all, (dear me, where _is_ that key?)--and when one can't help things turning out so, you know, it's really too much to--to--you know what I mean, brother; come now, be reasonable."

"I do _not_ know what you mean, Peppy," (the lady's name when unabbreviated was Penelope, but as she never was so named by any one, she might as well not have had the name at all), "and," continued Mr Stuart, emphatically, "I would advise _you_ to be reasonable and explain yourself."

"Dear George, how _can_ you," said Miss Peppy, who talked with great volubility, and who never for a moment ceased to bustle about the room in a series of indescribable, as well as unaccountable, not to say unnecessary, preparations for the morning meal, which had already been prepared to perfection by Mrs Niven; "you surely don't forget--things do happen _so_ surprisingly at times--really, you know, I _can not_ see why we should be subjected to such surprises. I'm quite sure that no good comes of it, and then it makes one look _so_ foolish. Why human beings were made to be surprised so, _I_ never could understand. No one ever sees pigs, or horses, or cows surprised, and they seem to get through life a great deal easier than we do, at all events they have less worry, and they never leave their children at their neighbour's doors and run away--what _can_ have got it?--I'm quite sure I put it there last night with the thimble and scissors."

Miss Peppy thrust her right hand deep into that mysterious receptacle of household miscellanies her pocket, and fingered the contents inquiringly for a few moments.

"What are you looking for?" inquired her brother impatiently.

"The key of the press," said Miss Peppy with a look of weariness and disappointment.