The Gentleman: A Romance of the Sea Part 97

He was swimming down the shingle-bank, aware of nothing but the tip of his nose and vague bad dreams at the back of his heart.

The lugger was lying on the steep of the shingle, poised as though for launching.

The swarthy jib was bellying seaward. She was yearning for the water.

Kit rallied.

The slope was with them; the wind was with them; the very boat was with them. And the tide, running in with a splash, already flopped about her keel.

How soon would she float?

Two minutes might do it--or twenty.

CHAPTER LXXII

THE RACE FOR THE LUGGER

I

There was not a moment to be lost.

"Throw your musket aboard her!" cried Kit, bringing up against the lugger. "Now put your shoulder to and heave with a will! heave!"

They might as well have tried to move a mountain. Yet even as the boy strained, a wave shot up and sluiced his feet. And how that cold clasp warmed his heart!

The tide was tumbling in, the Lord G.o.d thrusting it. A minute, a little minute, and they would be away.

"Aboard her, Blob!" he panted. "That's right, clumsy! Noisy does it!

Now chuck every single thing you can lay hands on, overboard--except the muskets, idiot!"

Fiercely the boys set to work. Kits and cans, ballast and blocks, spare spars and tackle, higgledy-piggledy overboard they went, some on the shingle, some splashing into the tide, to be s.n.a.t.c.hed and tumbled and ducked.

As yet they were not discovered. Kit working madly in the belly of the boat could see nothing; but afar he could hear the Parson's terrible roar, and Knapp's crisp,

"_Ow's that-a-tat, ow's that?_"

Somehow, only the Lord knew how, those two inspired warriors still kept the ring.

It was great, but it could not last. The end must come, and it must come soon.

Anxiously the boy peeped over the side. The tide seemed to mock them.

With what a swoop it rushed to their rescue, and with what a scream of derision it withdrew again! Kit compared it unconsciously to the to and fro of the emotions in his heart, now surging him heaven-high, now leaving him stranded.

Then he spied a greased bat for launching lying on the slope. In a trice he was overboard, had seized it, and racing down the streaming shingle as a wave withdrew, thrust the bat beneath the keel. The wave curled, stemmed by the advancing water, and swept about him to the knee.

As it clasped the lugger, a puff of wind leapt from the land, and skirmished across the sea.

The jib filled to it, and strained seaward.

Was he wrong?--or did she stir and tremble, like a girl to her lover?

How to help her?

If they could hoist the main-sail!

He was back over the side in a moment.

The boat was clean-swept now of everything but the muskets and a mess of shingle for ballast at the bottom. The anchor had gone over the stern and trailed on the slope. Even Blob had disappeared.

Kit pushed at the boom to thrust it over.

"Blob! Blob! where are you?"

"Here Oi be!" panted a voice forward.

Kit turned to see Blob, his shoulders rounded, and arms taut, heaving at the main-mast.

"She wun't budge!" he cried, his face crimson with honest effort.

"Seems she's grow'd in loike."

"Fool!" he cried. "Lend a hand with the boom here! Shove, boy, shove!

--Now on to the main-brace! No, fool, no!--Here--on to this! Now all together--heave! heave! heave!"

The great sail rose, groaning terribly.

Heaven send the smugglers hadn't heard!

But they had.

II

So much a far scream told them.

"We're seen!" panted Kit. "Now whistle for the wind, my boy, and hand me that musket."

The water was slopping all about the lugger. Empty as a barrel she began to rock to the rocking of the tide. A puff would launch her.

The boy glanced seaward.

Over there was that white glimmer, clearer now. It was like the arm of a drowning woman flinging up for help. The glimpse of it inspired the boy.