Three Boys Part 7

"Not plenty; enough to clear the rock," was the reply.

"Sit fast, and you'll see what a rush through we shall go. Hold tight."

Max set his teeth, and his eyes showed a complete circle of white about the iris as the boat careened over, and, feeling now the current which raced foaming around the point, he had a strange catching of the breath, while his hands clung spasmodically to the thwart and side.

The huge ma.s.s of frowning rock seemed to be coming to meet them; the grey-winged birds flew hither and thither; the water, that had been dark blue flecked with white, suddenly became one wild race of foam, such as he had seen behind the paddle-boxes of the steamers during his run up from Glasgow. There was the perpendicular wall on his right, and a cl.u.s.ter of black crags on his left, and toward these the boat was rushing at what seemed to him a terrific rate. It was like running wildly to their death; but Kenneth was seated calmly holding the tiller, and Scood half lay back, letting one hand hang over and splash amongst the foam.

Hiss, roar, rush, and a spray of spattering drops of the beaten waves splashed over them as they raced on, pa.s.sing through the opening at a rate which made Max Blande feel dizzy. Then, just as the boat careened over till the bellying sail almost touched the low crags on their left, it made quite a leap, rose upright, the pressure on the sail ceased, the rush of wind seemed to be suddenly cut off, and they were gliding rapidly along in an almost waveless bay, with a deep, loud, thunderous roar booming into their ears.

"What do you think of that?" cried Kenneth, laughing in his guest's astonished face.

"I--I don't know. Is anything broken?"

"Broken? No. We're under the shelter of the great point."

"Oh, I see. But what's that noise? Thunder?"

"Thunder? No. That's the Grey Mare wagging her tail."

"Poof!"

Scood exploded again.

"You are laughing at me," said Max quietly. "I can't help being so ignorant."

"Never mind, we'll show you. I say, Scood, there's wind enough to carry us by if we go close in."

"No, there isn't; keep out."

"Shan't. Get out the oars and help!"

"Best keep out," grumbled Scood.

"You get out the oars--do you hear?"

Scood frowned, and slowly laid out the oars, as he took his place on the forward thwart, after a glance at the sail, which barely filled now.

"She aren't safe to go near," he said sulkily.

"Does she kick?" said Max eagerly.

Kenneth burst into a fresh roar of laughter.

"Oh yes, sometimes," he said, "right into the boat."

Scood sat with the oars balanced, and a grim smile upon his countenance, while Max looked sharply from one to the other, and, seeing that there was something he did not grasp, he sat watchful and silent, while the boat, in the full current which swept round the bay, glided rapidly out toward the farther point, from behind which the thunderous roar seemed to come.

In another minute they were close to the point, round which the tide flowed still and deep, and directly after Max held his breath, as the boat glided on, with the sail flapping, towards where in one wild leap a torrent of white water came clear out from a hundred feet above, to plunge sullenly into the sea.

"That's the Grey Mare's Tail," cried Kenneth, raising his voice so as to be heard above the heavy roar; and the fall bore no slight resemblance to the long white sweeping appendage of some gigantic beast, reaching from the face of the precipice to the sea.

Max felt awe-stricken, for, saving on canvas, he had never seen anything of the kind before. It was grand, beautiful, and thrilling to see the white water coming foaming down, and seeming to make the sea boil; but the perspiration came out on the lad's brow as he realised the meaning of what had pa.s.sed, and understood Scood's remonstrances, for it was evident that the boat was drawing rapidly toward the fall, and that in the shelter of the tremendous cliff there was not sufficient wind to counteract the set of the current.

Scood gave one glance over his shoulder, and began to row hard, while for a moment Kenneth laughed; but directly after he realised that there was danger, and, leaving the tiller, he stepped forward, sat down hastily, and caught the oar Scood pa.s.sed to him.

A minute of intense anxiety pa.s.sed, during which the two lads rowed with all their might. But, in spite of their efforts, the boat glided nearer and nearer to the falling water, and it seemed but a matter of moments before they would be drawn right up to where the cataract came thundering down.

"Pull, Scood!" shouted Kenneth. "Pull!"

Scoodrach did not reply, but dragged at his oar, and for a few moments they made way; then surely and steadily the boat glided toward the fall, having to deal with the tide and the natural set of the surface toward the spot where the torrent poured in.

Max Blande grasped all now, and, ignorant of such matters as he was, he could still realise that from foolhardiness his companion had run the boat into a terrible danger beyond his strength to counteract.

There it was, plain enough: if they could not battle with the steady, insidious current which was slowly bearing them along, in another minute the torrent would fill the boat and plunge them down into the chaos of foaming water, from which escape would be impossible.

"Quick! here!" cried Kenneth in a shrill voice, heard above the deep humming roar of the fall. "Push--push!"

For a few moments Max could not grasp his meaning, but, when he did, he placed his hands against the oar, and thrust at each stroke with all his might.

For a few moments the extra strength seemed to tell, but Max's help was weak, and not enough to counteract the failing efforts of the two lads, who in their excitement rowed short, and without the steady strain wanted in such a time of peril.

"It's no good," cried Scood hoa.r.s.ely. "She'll go town, and we must swim."

His voice rang out shrilly in the din of the torrent, but he did not cease pulling, for Kenneth shouted back,--

"Pull--pull! Will you pull?" He bent to his oar as he spoke, and once more they seemed to make a little way, but only for a few moments; and, as Max Blande looked up over his shoulder, it seemed to him that the great white curve was right above him, and even as he looked quite a shower of foam came spattering down into the boat.

CHAPTER FOUR.

WELCOME TO DUNROE.

A cry of horror rose to Max Blande's lips, but there it seemed to be frozen, and he knelt, with starting eyes, crouched together, and gazing up at the falling water. Stunned by the roar, too helpless to lend the slightest aid to the rowers, he felt that in another moment they would be right beneath, when the boat suddenly careened over, struck by the sharp puff of wind which seemed to come tearing down the ravine from which the torrent issued, and in a few moments they were fifty feet away, and running rapidly toward the mouth of the bay.

The first thing Max Blande realised was that he had been knocked over into the bottom of the boat by Kenneth, who had sprung to the rudder, and the next that he had been trampled on by Scood, who had seized the sheet, and held on to trim the sail.

Max got up slowly, and shivered as he glanced at the great fall and then at his companions, who, now that the danger was past, made light of it, and burst into a hearty laugh at his expense.

"Are we out of danger?" he faltered.

"Out of danger! Yes, of course; wasn't any," replied Kenneth. "Had the boat full; that's all. You said you could swim, didn't you?"

Max shook his head.

"Ah, well, it don't matter now! Scood and I can soon teach you that."

"If she couldn't swim she'd ha' been trowned," said Scood oracularly, "for we should have had enough to do to get ash.o.r.e."