CHAPTER III

UPON THE ROCKY REEF

ADAMS had been in the right when he thought he saw a woman on board the barque "Sunlight." There was a woman, the Captain's sister; and there was also a little baby girl, the Captain's child.

They had come in for very bad weather this voyage. A heavy gale, lasting two days, had carried away the masts and gear. Jury-masts had been rigged, but another terrible storm carried these also by the board, and washed away a great portion of the gunwale. Somewhat later both the rudder and the boats were swept clean away, and three of the crew went with them. After this the disabled barque could do little more than drift whither wind or current should bear her. A brief lull succeeded: but before any other vessel could be sighted and summoned to her aid, the weather again changed for the worse, a fresh gale coming on. The damaged ship was now steadily nearing the shore, and a long white gleam of breakers ahead spoke of hidden rocks.

On the deck stood a young woman, probably under thirty, her serious eyes bent landward, and one hand resting on the head of a large powerful Newfoundland dog, while the other held fast to a rope, as she swayed to and fro with the heaving of the ship. She looked both grave and sad. A dark ulster clothed her from head to foot, and she wore a round sailor hat, with a black ribbon.

Mildred Pattison had lost both her parents in one week, shortly before starting on this voyage with her brother and his wife; and only two weeks before this date her brother's wife had been left below the deep Atlantic waters. No near relative remained to her on earth save her brother and his little one. Now death stared them all in the face. Captain Pattison, a bronzed and kind-faced man, many years older than herself, made his way to her side. He too looked sad and anxious.

"It's a bad look-out, Millie."

"If we go on like this, we shall soon be on those rocks," she replied. It was not easy to make him hear, though she had a penetrating voice.

"We're setting for them straight. The wind and tide are carrying us fast to leeward."

"And nothing can be done?"

He made a negative sign. "They see us from the shore. Perhaps they'll try something or other. But look at those breakers. Not much chance for us when we get among them!"

"I'll bring Louey on deck. She was sound asleep, and I left her for ten minutes. Poor little dear!"

The Captain sighed. "I'm glad to think Lucy passed away as she did—so peacefully. Do you remember what a still day it was, just before all our troubles began?"

Millie nodded, with moist eyes.

"She wasn't frightened to go, but she'd have been frightened at this. Louey's too young to understand, and that's a mercy. Well, going Home early means being spared a lot of trouble."

His strong voice, well used to making itself heard against boisterous winds, reached Millie more easily than hers reached him.

"I wonder if Lucy sees us now," she murmured.

"I shouldn't wonder if we're all together again this evening—you and me and Lucy and little Lou—up there." For an instant the Captain half bared his head, despite the bitter blast, with a reverent upward glance, and a light of hope sprang into the bronzed features. "So long as One is aboard, it don't much matter which way we get into port."

"Is HE aboard?" questioned Millie to herself. Then aloud, "I don't seem to feel anything much, Phil, good or bad. I'm stupefied with all I've gone through this last year."

The Captain's hand came on her shoulder. "Poor Millie! Poor old girl! But HE knows what's best for us, Millie."

"Hadn't I better get Louey on deck?"

"Don't wake the child. If she's asleep, let her sleep."

"Yes, but, Phil, I can't stay down there any longer, boxed up." Millie shuddered. "I must see what's coming. And, Phil, listen to me. Phil, remember one thing: you are to look to Lou. If anybody can do anything for me, Hero will do it. You've got to save little Lou, for Lucy's sake."

"God bless you, Millie. You're a brave woman."

"Am I?" A smile flickered, as she thought how little he could guess at the deadly heart-sinking below. "I hope I know what is right, at all events."

Perhaps he failed to catch her words. His eyes were strained shoreward as the barque swayed and lurched under their feet, tossed to and fro by the surging billows, which again and again broke over the deck. It was marvellous how Millie managed to stand at all.

Each minute the broad irregular line of breakers seemed to draw nearer; each minute their angry crests seemed to leap higher. The very terror of the sight was fascinating, for in a short time they would themselves be in the grip of those furious waters. The rudderless vessel could not be guided, a makeshift attempt at a rudder having proved valueless; and in any case she could not, without masts, have escaped from the clutch of the strong current which dragged her onwards to her fate. But whatever Mildred Pattison felt below the surface, she remained outwardly composed. She was not one of the shrieking and hysterical kind.

Apathetic indifference seemed to have settled down for a while upon the crew, only seven of whom remained. Nothing further could be done. Not even a boat was left to them, or they would no doubt have tried launching it, however hopelessly.

Nearer, and nearer, and yet nearer, they drew to the rocks. It was worse, waiting thus for the final crash, than if the crash had come unexpectedly; worse in some respects. The end was so sure, yet so gradual.

True, time was given them for thought and prayer, and for this they might well be grateful. But Millie felt herself unable either to think or to pray. This may have been a mistake. She did think unconsciously; and while definite words or sentences of petition were impossible, the whole attitude of her heart was a despairing cry for help. She had not, perhaps, sufficiently practised habits of steady prayer in happier hours, and during late months she had yielded herself too much of a victim to a spirit of heavy repining. Now, in dire danger, she could not shake herself free from the clog which she had hung round her own neck. She seemed to be dulled, wordless, helpless.

Was Christ indeed on board this barque, as He had been on board the boat which crossed Galilee's waters, not in Bodily Form, but none the less absolutely present? To Captain Pattison, a man of childlike trust, it was so undoubtedly. But to Millie Pattison? If things spiritual are verily to us "according to our faith," then, according to Millie's lack of trust, she had not that Divine Presence to bear her through the bitter hour, not consciously and comfortingly at all events.

The Captain would not let her go down below. He had noted her shudder at the thought, and crossing the deck was no easy or safe matter. He went himself, and brought the fair-haired child of two, still half asleep, wrapped warmly in a thick shawl and folded in his arms.

"Shall I take her?" asked Millie.

"No, no; you keep yourself free. I've told Bill Jonson to mind and see if he can do anything for you, and he will. They're trying on shore to launch a boat."

"It's been thrown back twice. And how can they get to us, with those rocks between?"

"They won't try. There's a break in the line of rocks some way off: But in this sea—no, they won't try. They'll just keep near, if they can, and pick up some of us. That's the one chance. Time for your lifebelt!"

She put it on obediently, only murmuring, "What is the use? It may just mean longer torture."

In the distance they had glimpses of the boat, which, after two failures, was at length fairly off. It seemed a mere cockle-shell, tossed from billow to billow, and its advance in the teeth of the rising tide was of necessity slow. Millie saw it, and lost it, and saw it, and lost it anew. Was it afloat still, or had it gone down?

[Illustration: In the distance they had glimpses of the boat.]

Then she found that the shore was blotted out as by a veil, the air around having grown thick with flying spray; and the thundering crash of breakers was suddenly close at hand. She had not known that they were quite so near. The barque seemed for a moment to pause, almost to draw back, and to plunge forward with a fearful crash.

Millie was dashed flat on her face by the concussion, and when she slowly struggled to her knees, clinging for support to rope and bulwark, she found the deck so slanting that to stand upright was no longer possible. The barque was lying over almost on her side, and Millie was alone. Even Hero had vanished, and through the masses of flying spray, which half blinded and half stifled her, she could catch no glimpse of her brother or the child.

For one instant the veil of spray was flung aside by the wind, and she saw two of the crew, clinging to the vessel as she herself clung; but the Captain was not there. A faint whining next became audible, and Hero struggled, dripping, to her side, to seize her dress in his jaws, with an evident determination that they two should not be again separated.

The barque seemed to be settling slowly over, and every plank quivered with the shock of those heavy seas, which swept her from stem to stern. Millie held on determinately; but she knew that it would not be possible to hold on long. Breath and strength were fast failing.

Yet somehow she no longer felt afraid. In the booming rush of billows and the blinding dash of spray, a vision had come to her eyes of a distant lull and a Cross thereupon, and ONE whom she knew hanging patiently on the Cross; and her whole soul leapt up in a passionate prayer for pardon, because she had doubted His love.

"I shall never doubt Him again. He will take me now Home," she thought.

And when another momentary break allowed her to see something swept to and fro in the surge below, which she recognised as her brother, almost a smile came.

"It is over for him! It will soon be over for me too."

Then her hand went to the dog's rough coat. "Dear old Hero! You can't do any more for me. Poor old fellow! It's nearly over!"

A mountainous wave rushed past, and Millie was all but torn away. She held on, gasping, and knew that she could not withstand such another. The return rush of water swept a small bundle to her very feet, and Millie quitted her hold to grasp it. As she saw, close to her own, the white still face of Louey, fixed in eternal peace, it was torn away by the next giant billow, which came crashing up from behind.

On Millie's part there was a momentary sense of helplessness, of whirling noise and darkness and bewilderment, and then she remembered no more. When the great green mass of water had passed by, neither Millie nor Hero remained on the deck. They had together been lifted clean over the rocky reef, and swept far into the troubled waters beyond. With this last shock the barque parted amidships.

The Maxham boat, in imminent danger each moment of being capsized, was drawing slowly nearer, and old Adams, at the stern, witnessed what had happened. He said nothing at first, till Mr. Gilbert, glancing round, exclaimed,—

"She's gone!"

"Ay, she be gone, sir. Broke up like a bit of matchwood. And I'm afeared them aboard be gone with her."

"The tide is coming in. Some of them may be carried this way. We'll not give up yet," shouted Gilbert.

"No, sir."

Again they bent to their oars, rising and falling as one big wave after another swept under them. But for the practised skill of Adams, they would soon have found themselves struggling in the water.

Another shout from Gilbert. "See there: something yonder!" And soon to one and another became apparent a small dark object, half swimming, half borne along, and a larger object, floating or dragged with it.

"A dog, and he's got hold of something. Steady, boys, steady! Ease a bit! Now then!"

Another minute, and they were beside the almost exhausted Hero, whose teeth held firmly still a portion of Millie's dress. With difficulty they hauled her in—a dripping senseless figure, perhaps past recovery—and Hero was helped to climb in after.

Millie was laid in the bottom of the boat, and for a few minutes still they lingered, but in vain. No other body could be seen. Longer delay might mean the certainty of death for the one whom they had rescued; and soon they turned towards the shore.

This was quicker work, for now the incoming tide was in their favour, and wave after wave carried them on. The worst was, or seemed to be, over, when, near the land, a heavy swell caught the boat, carried it forward, turned it as before broadside to the beach, then, as if with a last expiring effort dashed it, bottom up, upon the shingle.