The Vicar's People Part 95

Geoffrey nodded, and their eyes met for a few moments.

"G.o.d forgive him!" said the vicar, softly. "Trethick, can we do any thing to save his life?"

As he spoke, Geoffrey for answer pointed to one of the huge green rollers that now came sweeping in, curled over, and broke with a roar like thunder upon the rocky beach.

"Nothing but stand ready with a rope," was the reply; and then the two young men stood watching the lugger till one of the fishermen came up with a great oilskin coat.

"Put it on, sir," he roared to the vicar. "It'll keep some of it off."

The vicar was about to refuse, but his good feeling prompted him to accept the offer, and a few minutes later another came up and offered one to Geoffrey, who shook his head, and, in place of taking it, stripped off his coat and moved farther down to meet the waves.

The vicar followed him quickly, for the crucial time had come. As far as those ash.o.r.e could make out, the crew of the lugger had hoisted their fore-sail a few feet higher, and, as they raced in, there was just a chance that she might obey her rudder and swing round into shelter; but it was the faintest of chances, and so it proved.

On she came, light as a duck; and, as she neared the sh.o.r.e, she seemed almost to leap from wave to wave, till at last, when she came in, riding as it were upon one huge green wall of water, nearer and nearer, with the speed almost of a race-horse.

"Now--now--now, Tom!" rose in chorus, heard for a moment above the wind; and, as if in obedience to the call, the head of the lugger was seen to curve round, and in another minute she would have been in shelter, when, as if fearful of missing their prey, the waves leaped at her, deluging her with water; she was swept on and on towards where the crowd had gathered; and then there was a shriek as the lugger was seen to be lifted and dashed down upon the rocks--once, twice--and there was something dark, like broken timbers, churning about among the yeasty foam. The boat was in a hundred pieces tossing here and there.

For a few moments the fishermen ash.o.r.e stood motionless, and then a man was seen to run out, rope in hand, into the white foam towards something dark, catch at it, and those ash.o.r.e gave a steady haul, and one of the crew was brought in, amidst a roar of cheers, to where Geoffrey and the vicar stood.

Again there was a dark speck seen amongst the floating planks, and another man dashed in with a rope, and a second member of the little crew was dragged ash.o.r.e.

Again another, who was stoutly swimming for his life, was fetched in; and almost at the same moment Geoffrey saw something that made his blood course fiercely through his veins.

"I can't help it," he muttered; "villain as he is, I cannot stand and see him drown."

There was no momentary hesitation; but, drawing a long breath, he dashed into the foam that seethed and rushed up the sh.o.r.e, for his quick eye had detected a hand thrust out from the surf for a moment, and his brave effort was successful, for he caught the sleeve of one of the drowning men. Then they were swept in for a time but sucked back; and but for the aid lent by one of the fishermen with a rope, it would have gone hard with them, though, in the excitement, Geoffrey hardly realised the fact till he found himself standing in the midst of a knot of fishermen and the vicar clinging to his hand, but only for the clergyman to be roughly thrust aside by Tom Jennen, for it was he whom Geoffrey had saved; and the rough fellow got hold of his hand and squeezed it as in a vice.

"Where's Mr Tregenna?" cried Geoffrey, hoa.r.s.ely, as soon as he could get breath, for he had caught sight of the rough, dark figure of old Prawle running to and fro in the shallow white water where the waves broke up.

"Hasn't he come ash.o.r.e?" said Tom Jennen, with his face close to Geoffrey's.

The latter shook his head and looked inquiringly at the rough fisherman; but Tom Jennen staggered away to sit down, utterly exhausted by his struggle.

Planks, a mast with the dark cinnamon sail twisted round it, the lugger's rudder, a cask or two, a heap of tangled net, a sweep broken in half, and some rope--bit by bit the fragments of the brave little fisher-vessel came ash.o.r.e, or were dragged out by one or other of the men; but though a dozen stood ready, rope in hand, to dash in amongst the foam and try to rescue a struggling swimmer, John Tregenna's hand was never seen stretched out for help, nor his ghastly face looking wildly towards the sh.o.r.e. And at last, as the fragments of the lugger were gathered together in a heap, the crowd melted away, to follow where the half-drowned fishermen had been half-carried to their homes, and Geoffrey gladly accepted the hospitality offered to him by Edward Lee.

Tom Jennen had fared the worst, for he had been dashed once against a part of the lugger, and his ribs were crushed; but he seemed patient and ready to answer the questions of a visitor who came to him after he had seen the doctor leave.

"Were he aboard, Tom Jennen, when you tried to make the harbour?"

"Aboard? Who? Tregenna?"

"Ay."

"Of course."

"And he was with you when you struck?"

"Holding on by the side, and screeching for help like a frightened woman," said Jennen.

"And where do you think he'd be now?" said the other.

"Drowned and dead, for he hadn't the spirit to fight for his life," said Jennen, "and I wish I'd never seen his face."

"I'd like to have seen it once more," said Tom Jennen's visitor, grimly.

"Just once more;" and he nodded and left the cottage.

"I don't feel as if I ought to face my Bess till I've seen him once again," he muttered, as he went on along the cliff path; "but I don't know--I don't know. He was too slippery for me at the last;" and old Prawle went slowly and thoughtfully homeward to the Cove.

CHAPTER SIXTY ONE.

AFTER MANY DAYS.

"She's better, Trethick, much better," said Uncle Paul. "Poor child! I thought it was going to be a case of madness. But sit down, man, I've just got a fresh batch of the old cheroots."

Geoffrey seated himself in the summer-house opposite to the old gentleman, with the soft sea-breeze blowing in at the open window; and for a time they smoked in silence.

"Mrs Mullion is going away, Trethick," said the old man at last.

"Going away?"

"Yes; it will be better for Madge. Let them go somewhere to a distance.

The poor girl wants change, and she'll never be happy here."

"No," said Geoffrey, "I suppose not. Then you go with them?"

"I? No, my lad, I seem to be so used to this house that I don't want to make a change. I can't live much longer, Trethick, and I thought, perhaps, you would come back to the old place. There'll be plenty of room for both of us, and we can smoke and quarrel in the old style."

Geoffrey shook his head.

"I should like it," he said; "but it won't do, Uncle Paul. My career's over here in Carnac, and I ought to have been off long enough ago, instead of idling away my time, and growing rusty."

"Only you feel that you can't leave the place, eh?"

Geoffrey frowned, and half turned away his head.

"Well," said the old man, "Rhoda Penwynn is a fine girl, and full of purpose and spirit. There, sit down, man, sit down," he cried, putting his cane across the door to prevent Geoffrey's exit. "Can't you bear to hear a few words of truth?"

Geoffrey looked at him angrily, but he resumed his place.

"I shouldn't have thought much of her if she hadn't thrown you over as she did, my lad."

"Where was her faith?" cried Geoffrey.

"Ah, that's sentiment, my lad, and not plain common-sense. Every thing looked black against you."

"Black? Yes; and whose lips ought to have whitened my character?"