Майн Рид
The Child Wife
Chapter Three.
The Two Poetasters
The sportsman was under a mistake about the girls being gone. They were still within the cove; only no longer conversing.
Their dialogue had ended along with their dressing; and they had betaken themselves to two separate occupations – both of which called for silence. Miss Girdwood had commenced reading a book that appeared to be a volume of poems; while her cousin, who had come provided with drawing materials, was making a sketch of the grotto that had served them for a robing-room.
On their emerging from the water, Keziah had plunged into the same pool – now disturbed by the incoming tide, and deep enough to conceal her dusky charms from the eyes of any one straying along the cliff.
After spluttering about for a matter of ten minutes, the negress returned to the shore; once more drew the gingham gown over her head; squeezed the salt spray out of her kinky curls; readjusted the bandanna; and, giving way to the languor produced by the saline immersion, lay down upon the dry shingle – almost instantly falling asleep.
In this way had the trio become disposed, as the explorer, after discovering the obstruction to his progress, turned back along the strand – their silence leading him to believe they had taken departure.
For some time this silence continued, Cornelia taking great pains with her drawing. It was a scene well worthy of her pencil, and with the three figures introduced, just as they were, could not fail to make an interesting picture. She intended it as the record of a rare and somewhat original scene: for, although young ladies occasionally took a sly dip in such solitary places, it required a certain degree of daring.
Seated upon a stone, as far out as the tide would allow her, she sketched her cousin, leaning studiously against the cliff, and the sable-skinned maid-servant, with turbaned head, lying stretched along the shingle. The scarped precipice, with the grotto underneath; the dark rocks here overhanging, there seamed by a gorge that sloped steeply upward – the sides of the latter trellised with convolvuli and clumps of fantastic shrubbery, – all these were to appear in the picture.
She was making fair progress, when interrupted by an exclamation from her cousin.
The latter had been for some time turning over the leaves of her book with a rapidity that denoted either impatience or dire disappointment in its contents.
At intervals she would stop, read a few lines, and then sweep onward – as if in search of something better.
This exercise ended, at length, by her dashing the volume down upon the shingle, and exclaiming:
“Stuff!”
“Who?”
“Tennyson.”
“Surely you’re jesting? The divine Tennyson – the pet poet of the age?”
“Poet of the age! There’s no such person!”
“What! not Longfellow?”
“Another of the same. The American edition, diluted, if such a thing were possible. Poets indeed! Rhymesters of quaint conceits – spinners of small sentiments in long hexameters – not soul enough in all the scribblings of both to stir up the millionth part of an emotion?”
“You are severe, cousin. How do you account for their world-wide popularity? Is that not a proof of their being poets?”
“Was it a proof in the case of Southey? Poor, conceited Southey, who believed himself superior to Byron! And the world shared his belief – at least one-half of it, while he lived! In these days such a dabbler in verse would scarce obtain the privilege of print.”
“But Longfellow and Tennyson have obtained it.”
“True; and along with, as you say, a world-wide reputation. All that is easily explained.”
“How?”
“By the accident of their coming after Byron – immediately after him.”
“I don’t comprehend you, cousin.”
“Nothing can be clearer. Byron made the world drunk with a divine intoxication. His superb verse was to the soul what wine is to the body; producing a grand and glorious thrill – a very carousal of intellectual enjoyment. Like all such excesses, it was followed by that nervous debility that requires a blue pill and black draught. It called for its absinthe and camomile bitters; and these have been supplied by Alfred Tennyson, Poet Laureate to the Queen of England, and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, pet of the sentimental and spectacled young ladies of Boston. It was a poetic tempest, to be followed by a prosaic calm, that has now lasted over forty years, unbroken save by the piping of this pair of poetasters!”
“Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers!” repeated Cornelia, with a good-natured laugh.
“Yes!” cried Julia, rather irritated by her cousin’s indifference. “By just such a paltry play upon words, by the imagination of small sentimentalities, and sickly conceits, plucked out of barren brains, and then machined into set stanzas, have these same poetasters obtained the world-wide reputation you speak of. Out upon such pretenders! And this is how I would serve them.”
She raised her little foot, and, with a spiteful stamp, brought her heel down upon poor Tennyson, sinking him deep into the spongy sand!
“Oh, Julia, you’ve spoilt the book?”
“There’s nothing in it to spoil. Waste print and paper. There’s more poetry in one of these pretty seaweeds that lie neglected on the sand – far more than in a myriad of such worthless volumes. Let it lie!”
The last words were addressed to Keziah, who, startled from her slumber, had stooped to pick up the trampled volume.
“Let it lie, till the waves sweep over it and bear it into oblivion; as the waves of Time will wash out the memory of its author. Oh, for one true – one real poet!”
At this moment Cornelia started to her feet; not from anything said by her cousin, but simply because the waves of the Atlantic were already stealing around her skirts. As she stood erect, the water was dripping from them.
The sketcher regretted this interruption of her task; the picture was but half completed; and it would spoil it to change the point of view.
“No matter,” she muttered, closing her sketch-book, “we can come again to-morrow. You will, won’t you, Julia, to oblige me?”
“And myself miss. It’s the very thing, this little plunge sans façon. I haven’t enjoyed anything like it since landing on the island of – of – Aquidnec. That, I believe, is the ancient appellation. Come, then, let us be off! To-day, for a novelty, I shall dine with something resembling an appetite.”
Keziah having wrung out the bathing-dresses and tied them in a bundle, the three prepared to depart.
Tennyson still lay crushed upon the sand; and his spiteful critic would not allow him to be taken up!
They started to return to the hotel – intending to go up the cliff by the same ravine through which they had come down. They knew of no other way.
On reaching the jutting rock that formed the flanking of the cove, all three were brought suddenly to a stand.
There was no path by which they could proceed; they had stayed too long in the cove, and the tide had cut off their retreat.
The water was only a few feet in depth; and, had it been still, they might have waded it. But the flow was coming in with a surge strong enough to sweep them off their feet.
They saw this, but without feeling anything like fear. They regarded it only as an unpleasant interruption.
“We must go in the opposite direction,” said Julia, turning back into the cove, and leading the way around it.
But here again was their path obstructed, just as on the opposite side.
The same depth of water, the same danger to be dreaded from the lashing of the surge!
As they stood regarding it, it appeared to grow deeper and more dangerous!
Back to the place just left.
There, too, had the depth been increasing. The tide seemed to have risen more than a foot since they left it. It was but the breeze still freshening over the sea.
To have waded around either point seemed no longer possible; and none of the three could swim!
The cousins uttered a simultaneous cry. It was the first open acknowledgment of a fear both secretly felt.
The cry was echoed by their dark-skinned attendant, far more frightened than they.
Back again to the other side – once more back and forward – and their panic was complete.
They were no longer in doubt about their situation. On both sides the path was obstructed. Clearly was their retreat cut off! Up the precipice went their eyes, to see whether it could be climbed. It needed but a glance to tell them “No!” There was the gorge running up the cliff; but it looked as if only a cat could have scaled it!
They turned from it in despair.
There was but one hope remaining. The tide might not mount above their heads; and might they not stay where they were till it ebbed again?
With quick glances they interrogated the waves, the grotto, the rocks overhead. Unaccustomed to the sea, they knew but little of its ways. They knew that the waves rose and fell; but how far? They could see nothing to tell them; nothing to confirm their fears, or assure them of their safety!
This suspense was even worse to endure than the certainty of danger.
Oppressed by it, the two girls clasped each other by the hand, raising their united voices in a cry for deliverance: “Help! Help!”
Chapter Four.
“Help! Help!”
Their cry of distress ascended to the summit of the cliff.
It was heard; and by one who had lately listened to the same voices, speaking in tones of the sweetest contentment.
It was he who carried the gun.
After scrambling up the gorge, he had faced northward in the direction of Easton’s Beach; for the reason only that this was his nearest way to the hotel.
He was reflecting upon the incident that had caused him such a toilsome détour; though his thoughts were dwelling less upon this than upon the face of one of the two naiads seen playing in the pool.
It was the one of darker complexion.
Her figure, too, was recalled. In that transitory glance he had perceived above the water-line, and continued in the translucency beneath, an outline not easily forgotten. He so well remembered it, as almost to repent the spasm of delicacy that had caused him to retreat behind the rock.
This repentance had something to do with the direction he was now taking.
He had hopes of encountering the bathers as they came up to the summit of the cliff.
Much time, however, had passed. He could see that the beach was deserted – the few dark forms appearing upon it being evidently those solitary creatures of bachelor kind, who become Neptune’s guests only at the second table.
Of course the two mermaids having exchanged their loose aquatic costume for the more constrained dress of the street, had long since gone home to the hotel. This was his conjecture.
A cry came to contradict it; close followed by another, and another!
He ran out to the edge of the cliff and looked downward. He could remember nothing of the landmarks. The tide, now well in, had changed the look of everything below. The ledges were covered – their position only to be told by the surf breaking over them.
Once more came up the cry!
Dropping on his knees, he crept closer and closer to the escarped edge – out to its very brink. Still nothing to be seen below! Neither woman nor human being. Not a spot on which one might find footing. No beach above water – no shoal, rock, or ledge, projecting from the precipice – no standing-place of any kind. Only the dark angry waves, roaring like enraged lions, and embracing the abutment as though they would drag it back with them into the abysm of the ocean!
Amidst the crashing and seething, once more ascended the cry! Again, and again, till it became a continuous chant!
He could not mistake its meaning. The bathers were still below. Beyond doubt they were in danger.
How could he assist them?
He started to his feet. He looked all round – along the cliff-path, and across the fields stretching back from the shore.
No house was near – no chance of obtaining a rope.
He turned toward Easton’s Beach. There might be a boat there. But could it be brought in time?
It was doubtful. The cries continuing told him that the peril was imminent. Those imperilled might be already struggling with the tide!
At this moment he remembered a sloping gorge. It could not be far off. It was the same by which the young ladies had gone down. He was a strong swimmer, and knew it. By swimming round into the cove, he might be able to effect their rescue.
Giving a shout, to assure them that their situation was known, he started at full speed along the crest of the cliff.
On reaching the ravine, he flung himself into it, and soon reached the sea-level below.
Without pausing, he turned along the shore, rushing over sand and shingle, over sharp ledges, and making his way among boulders slippery with seaweed.
He reached the abutment that flanked one side of the cove, from which he could now again hear the cries of distress, mingled with the hoarse shrieking of the sea.
To wade round the point was plainly impossible. The water was neck-deep, seething and swelling.
Kicking off his boots, and throwing his gun, cap, and coat upon a ledge, he plunged in, and commenced a struggle with the billows.
It cost him one – his life nearly. Twice was his body borne against the rock with fearful violence – each time receiving injury in the shock.
He succeeded in rounding the point and reaching the cove beyond, where the swell broke more smoothly upon a sloping bed.
He now swam with ease; and soon stood in the presence of the bathers, who, at sight of him, had ceased their cries, believing their danger at an end.
All were within the grotto, to which they had retreated, as offering the highest ground. For all this, they were up to the ankles in water!
At his approach they rushed out, wading knee-deep to meet him.
“Oh, sir!” cried the eldest of the young ladies, “you see how we are situated: can you assist us?”
The swimmer had risen erect. He looked right and left, before making rejoinder.
“Can you swim?” he asked.
“Not one of us.”
“It is bad,” he muttered to himself. “Either way, it is doubtful whether I could carry them through it. It’s been as much as I could do for myself. We’d be almost certain of being crushed. What, in heaven’s name, can be done for them?”
They were thoughts rather than words, and the girls could not know them. But they saw the stranger’s brow clouded with apprehension; and with eyes straining into his, they stood trembling.
He turned suddenly, and glanced up the cliff. He remembered the seam he had observed from above. He could now survey it from base to summit.
A gleam of hope flashed over his face. It could be scaled!
“Surely you can climb up there?” he asked, encouragingly.
“No, no! I’m sure we could never go up that way. I could not.”
“Nor I.”
“You might sustain yourselves by taking hold of the bushes. It is not so difficult as it appears. Those tufts of grass would help you; and there are points where you might place your feet. I could climb it easily myself; but, unfortunately, it would be impossible for me to assist you. There is not room for two to go up together.”
“I am sure I should fall before I was halfway to the top!”
This was said by Cornelia. Julia signified the same. The negress had no voice. With lips ashy pale, she seemed too much terrified to speak.
“Then there is no alternative but to try swimming,” said the stranger, once more facing seaward, and again scrutinising the surf. “No!” he added, apparently recoiling from the design, “by swimming I might save myself, though it is no longer certain. The swell has increased since I came in here. There’s been wind on the sea outside. I’m a fair swimmer; but to take one of you with me is, I fear, beyond my strength.”
“But, sir!” appealed she of the dark eyes, “is it certain we could not stay here till the tide falls again?”
“Impossible! Look there!” answered he, pointing to the cliff.
There could be no mistaking what he meant. That line trending horizontally along the façade of the precipice, here and there ragged with sea-wrack, was the high-water mark of the tide. It was far overhead!
The girls uttered a simultaneous scream as they stood regarding it. It was, in truth, the first time they had felt a full sense of their danger. Hitherto they had been sustained by a hope that the tide would not mount so high as to submerge them. But there was the tell-tale track, beyond reach even of their hands!
“Courage!” cried the stranger, his voice all at once assuming a cheerful tone, as if some bright thought had occurred to him. “You have shawls, both of you. Let me have them.”
Without questioning his purpose, both raised the cashmeres from their shoulders, and held them out to him.
“A plan has occurred to me,” said he, taking out his knife, and cutting the costly fabric into strips. “I did not think of it before. By the help of these I may get you up the cliff.”
The shawls were soon separated into several bands. These he knotted together so as to form a long, narrow festoonery.
With eager hands the young ladies assisted him in the operation.
“Now?” he said, as soon as the junction was completed; “by this I can draw you up, one by one. Who first?”
“Go, cousin!” said she of the dark eyes; “you are lightest. It will be easier for him in the trial.”
As there was no time for either ceremony or dispute, Cornelia accepted the suggestion. The stranger could have no choice.
The shawl-rope was carefully adjusted around her waist, then with equal care fastened to his. Thus linked, they commenced climbing the cliff.
Though difficult for both, the scaling proved successful; and the young girl stood unharmed upon the summit.
She made no demonstration of joy. Her cousin was still below – still in danger!
Once again down the gorge by which he had before descended. Once more around the rock, battling with the breakers – and again safe in the shelter of the cove.
The shawl-rope flung down from above had been caught by those below; and was for the second time put into requisition.
In like manner was Julia rescued from the danger of drowning!
But the efforts of the rescuer did not end here. His was a gallantry that had nought to do with the colour of the skin.
For the third time his life was imperilled, and the negress stood safe upon the summit of the cliff – to unite with the young ladies in the expression of their gratitude.
“We can never sufficiently thank you,” said she of the bistre-coloured eyes.
“Oh, never!” exclaimed her companion with the irides of azure.
“Another favour, sir,” said the first speaker. “It seems quite a shame to ask it. But we shall be so laughed at if this become known. Would it be too much to request, that nothing be said of our very unpleasant adventure?”
“There shall be nothing said by me,” responded the rescuer. “Of that, ladies, you may rest assured.”
“Thanks! – a thousand thanks! Indeed, we are greatly indebted to you. Good-day, sir!”
With a bow, dark eyes turned away from the cliff along the path leading to the Ocean House. A somewhat deeper sentiment was observed in the orbs of blue; though their owner took leave without giving it expression.
The confusion arising from their late alarm might perhaps plead their excuse.
None was needed by the negress.
“God bress you, brave massa! God bress you!” were her parting words – the only ones that appeared to be spoken in true gratitude.
Chapter Five.
The Scathed Retriever
Filled with astonishment, and not without a slight feeling of chagrin, the sportsman stood looking after the trio he had delivered from almost certain death.
“A thousand thanks! Indeed we are greatly indebted to you?”
He repeated these words, imitating the tone in which they had been spoken.
“By my faith?” he continued, with an emphasis on each word, “if that isn’t a little of the coolest! What the dickens have I been doing for these dames? In the country of my christening I’d have had as much for helping them over a stile, or picking up a dropped glove. ‘Good-day, sir!’ Name neither asked nor given! Not a hint about ‘calling again’!
“Well, I suppose I shall have another opportunity of seeing them. They are going straight towards the Ocean House. No doubt a brace of birds from that extensive aviary. Birds of paradise, too – judging by their fine feathers! Ah! the dark one. Step like a race-horse – eye like a she-eagle!
“Strange how the heart declares its preference! Strange I should think most of her who appeared least grateful! Nay, she spoke almost superciliously. I wonder if likes were ever mutual.
“I could love that girl – I’m sure of it. Would it be a true, honest passion? Not so sure of that. She’s not exactly the kind I’d like to call wife. I feel convinced she’d aspire to wear the —
“Talking of inexpressibles makes me think of my coat, hat, and boots. Suppose, now, the tide has swept them off? What a figure I’d cut sneaking back to the hotel in my shirt-sleeves! Hatless and shoeless to boot! It’s just possible such exposé is in store for me. My God!” The exclamation was uttered with an accent quite different from the speeches that preceded it. These had been muttered jocosely, with a smile upon his lips. Along with the “My God!” came a cloud, covering his whole countenance.
The change was explained by what quickly came after.
“My pocket-book! A thousand dollars in it! All the money I have in the world! If that’s lost I’ll cut a still sorrier figure at the hotel. A long bill owing! My papers, too! Some of them of great importance to me – deeds and documents! God help me, if they’re gone!”
Once more along the cliff; once more descending the slope, with as much haste as if still another damsel with “she-eagle” eyes was screaming for help below!
He had reached the sea-level, and was turning along the strand, when he saw a dark object upon the water – about a cable’s length out from the shore. It was a small row-boat; with two men in it.
It was headed toward Easton Beach; but the rowers had stopped pulling, and were sitting with oars unshipped. They were nearly opposite the cove out of which he had so lately climbed.
“What a pity!” was his reflection. “Had these fellows shown themselves but twenty minutes sooner, they’d have saved me a set of sore bones, and the young ladies a couple of shawls that must have cost them a good round price – no doubt five hundred dollars apiece! The boat must have been coming up shore all the time. How stupid of me not to have seen it!
“What are they stopped for now? Ah! my coat and cap! They see them, and so do I. Thank heaven, my pocket-book and papers are safe!”
He was hastening on to make them still more secure, for the tide was close threatening his scattered garments – when all at once a dark monster-like form was seen approaching from the sea, surging toward the same point. As it got into shallow water, its body rose above the surface discovering a huge Newfoundland dog!
The animal had evidently come from the boat – had been sent from it. But for what purpose did not strike the sportsman till he saw the shaggy creature spring upward to the ledge, seize hold of his coat in its teeth, and then turning with it plunge back into the water!
A Broadway frock of best broadcloth; a thousand dollars in the pockets; papers worth ten times the amount!
“Heigh! heigh!” cried the owner, rushing on toward the spot where the rape was being committed, “down with it, you brute! down with it! drop it!”
“Fetch it?” came a voice from the boat; “come on, good Bruno! Fetch it!”
The words were followed by a peal of laughter that rang scornfully along the cliffs. The voices of both the boatmen took part in it.
Blacker than the rocks behind him became the face of the sportsman, who had paused in silent surprise.
Up to that moment he had supposed that the two men had not seen him, and that the dog had been sent to pick up what might appear “unclaimed property.” But the command given to the animal, with the scornful laugh, at once cured him of his delusion, and he turned toward them with a scowl that might have terrified bolder spirits than theirs.
It did not check his rising wrath to perceive that they were a brace of young “bloods” out on a pleasuring excursion. Perhaps all the more did he feel sensible of the insult.
He who had wandered far and wide; who had tracked Comanches on the war-path; had struck his sword against a chevaux-de-frise of Mexican bayonets, to be mocked after such fantastic fashion, and by such fellows!
“Command the dog back!” he shouted, in a voice that made the rocks re-echo. “Back with him; or, by heaven, you shall both rue it!”
“Come on, Bruno?” cried they, reckless, now they had committed themselves. “Good dog! Fetch it! fetch it!”
He in the shirt-sleeves stood for a moment irresolute, because feeling himself helpless. The animal had got out of his reach. It would be impossible to overtake it. Equally so to swim out to the boat, and wreak his wrath upon the rowers, whose speech continued to torture him.
Though seeming to him an age, his inaction was scarce of a second’s continuance. On looking around to see what might be done, his eye rested upon the gun, still lying upon the ledge where he had left it.
With an exulting shout he sprang toward the piece, and again held it in his grasp. It was loaded with large shot; for he had been sporting for water-fowl.
He did not wait to give warning. The scurvy behaviour of the fellows had released him from all ceremony; and hastily raising the piece, sent a shower of shot around the shoulders of the Newfoundland.
The dog dropped the coat, gave out a hideous growling, and swam, crippled-like, toward the boat.
Laughter no longer ran along the cliffs. It had ceased at sight of the gun.
“It’s a double one,” said he who grasped it, speaking loud enough for them to hear him. “If you’ll bring your boat a little nearer, I may treat you to the second barrel?”
The bloods thought better than to accept the invitation. Their joke had come to a disagreeable termination; and with rueful faces they pulled poor Bruno aboard, and continued the row so regretfully interrupted.
Fortunately for the sportsman, the tide was still “running,” so that his coat came ashore – dollars and documents along with it.
He spent some time in wringing out his saturated habiliments, and making himself presentable for the hotel. By good luck, there were no streets to pass through – the Ocean House being at this time separated only by farm fields from the rocky shore that had been the scene of his achievements.
“Adventures enough for one day!” he muttered to himself, as he approached the grand caravanserai swarming with its happy hundreds.
He did not know that still another was in store for him. As he stepped into the long piazza, two gentlemen were seen entering at the opposite end. They were followed by a large dog, that sadly needed helping over a stile.
The recognition was mutual; though only acknowledged by a reciprocal frown, so dark as not to be dispelled by the cheerful gong at that moment sounding the summons to dinner.
