CHAPTER LIII
FROM THE DEEP
It could not have been more than a few minutes before I recoveredconsciousness, if indeed I were ever absolutely unconscious. It wasrather the inevitable yielding to a strain on nerve and muscle andbrain, than a time of oblivion. I think that I always knew that I wasby the sea, and that Marjory was beside me and in trouble; but that wasall. I was in the nightmare stage, when one can understand danger andrealise terror; and when the only thing impossible to one is to doanything. Certainly, when I came to myself I was fully conscious of mysurroundings. I was even surprised that I did not see on Marjory's paleface, the cold faint gleam of light which had been there when last I sawher. The general light had, however, increased. The strand and the rockslooked now not black, but inexpressibly drear in the uniform grey whichseemed to make all colour and shape and distance into one sad flatscreen. My first work was of course to attend Marjory. For a while Ifeared that she was dead, so white was she amid the surrounding grey.But her heart still beat, and her breast moved, though very slightly,with her breathing. I could now see that we were in Broad Haven and, so,close to my own home. I could see through the pierced rock called the"Puir Mon." I took my wife in my arms and carried her, though withinfinite difficulty for I was sorely exhausted, up the steep path, andbrought her into the house. I had to break the door in again, but therewas no one to help me or to interfere in the matter. I got some brandyand poured a few drops into her mouth, and laid her in a pile of rugswhilst I lit the fire. The supply of whin bushes in the wood house wasnot exhausted, and very soon there was a roaring fire. When Marjoryopened her eyes and looked around the room, a certain amount ofconsciousness came to her. She imagined the occasion of her being withme was the same as when we had escaped from the flooded cave; holdingout her arms she said to me with infinite love and sweetness:
"Thank God, dear, you are safe!" A moment later she rubbed her eyes andsat up, looking wildly around as one does after a hideous dream. In hersurvey, however, her eyes lit on her own figure, and a real wave ofshame swept over her; she hastily pulled the rug round her shoulders andsank back. The habit of personal decorum had conquered fear. She closedher eyes for a moment or two to remember, and when she opened them wasin full possession of all her faculties and her memory.
"It was no dream! It is all, all real! And I owe my life to you,darling, once again!" I kissed her, and she sank back with a sigh ofhappiness. A moment later, however, she started up, crying out to me:
"But the others, where are they? Quick! quick! let us go to help them ifwe can!" She looked wildly round. I understood her wishes, and hurryinginto the other room brought her an armful of her clothes.
In a few minutes she joined me; and hand in hand we went out on the edgeof the cliff. As we went, I told her of what had happened since shebecame unconscious in the water.
The wind was now blowing fiercely, almost a gale. The sea had risen,till great waves driving amongst the rocks had thrashed the whole regionof the Skares into a wild field of foam. Below us, the waves dashingover the sunken rocks broke on the shore with a loud roaring, and washedhigh above the place where we had lain. The fog had lifted, and objectscould be seen even at a distance. Far out, some miles away, lay a greatship; and by the outermost of the Skares a little to the north of thegreat rock and where the sunken reef lies, rose part of a broken mast.But there was nothing else to be seen, except away to south a yachttossing about under double-reefed sails. Sea and sky were of a leadengrey, and the heavy clouds that drifted before the gale came so low asto make us think that they were the fog belts risen from the sea.
Marjory would not be contented till we had roused the whole village ofWhinnyfold, and with them had gone all round the cliffs and looked intoevery little opening to see if there were trace or sign of any of thosewho had been wrecked with us. But it was all in vain.
We sent a mounted messenger off to Crom with a note, for we knew in whatterrible anxiety Mrs. Jack must be. In an incredibly short time thegood lady was with us; and was rocking Marjory in her arms, crying andlaughing over her wildly. By and bye she got round the carriage from thevillage and said to us:
"And now my dears, I suppose we had better get back to Crom, where youcan rest yourselves after this terrible time." Marjory came over to me,and holding my arm looked at her old nurse lovingly as she said withdeep earnestness:
"You had better go back, dear, and get things ready for us. As for me, Ishall never willingly leave my husband's side again!"
* * * * *
The storm continued for a whole day, growing rougher and wilder witheach hour. For another day it grew less and less, till finally the windhad died away and only the rough waves spoke of what had been. Then thesea began to give up its dead. Some seamen presumably those of the_Wilhelmina_ were found along the coast between Whinnyfold and OldSlains, and the bodies of two of the blackmailers, terribly mangled,were washed ashore at Cruden Bay. The rest of the sailors and of thedesperadoes were never found. Whether they escaped by some miracle, orwere swallowed in the sea, will probably never be known.
Strangest of all was the finding of Don Bernardino. The body of thegallant Spanish gentleman was found washed up on shore behind the LordNelson rock, just opposite where had been the opening to the cave inwhich his noble ancestor had hidden the Pope's treasure. It was asthough the sea itself had respected his devotion, and had laid him bythe place of his Trust. Marjory and I saw his body brought home to Spainwhen the war was over, and laid amongst the tombs of his ancestors. Wepetitioned the Crown; and though no actual leave was given, no objectionwas made to our removing the golden figure of San Cristobal whichBenvenuto had wrought for the Pope. It now stands over the Spaniard'stomb in the church of San Cristobal in far Castile.
APPENDICES