The School by the Sea

  CHAPTER XV

  The Old Windlass

  By this time the reader will probably have gathered that Master RonaldTrevellyan, though possessed of a very charming and winsome personality,had a decidedly strong will of his own. On the whole he was fairly good,but the lack of companions of his own age, and the fact that he was theone darling of the household, made it almost an impossibility to preventhim from becoming in some slight degree spoilt. Mrs. Trevellyan did herbest to enforce obedience, but though her word was law, Ronnie was notalways so ready to accept the authority of others, and occasionallyexhibited a burst of independence. This was particularly noticeable withhis governess. Miss Herbert was inclined to be easy-going and was notsufficiently firm with him, and the young scamp, finding he could gethis own way, took advantage of her failing and sometimes defied her withimpunity. The little fellow's simple lessons were over in the morning,and in the afternoon he either played in the garden or was taken for awalk. To him it was a great occasion if he chanced to meet the pupilsfrom the Dower House. He counted them all as friends, and though he hadhis particular favourites among them, he was quite ready to be thegeneral pet of the school. On the day but one after the bonfire, when onhis way to the beach escorted by Miss Herbert, he encountered the twentygirls walking with Miss Harding towards the headland.

  "Hallo, Ronnie boy! Where are you off to? We're all going to drill onthe green and do ambulance practice. Won't Miss Herbert let you come andwatch us?"

  "Not to-day, thanks, I'm busy. I've got to go fishing," returned the"King of the Castle", proudly displaying a small shrimping net."Auntie's going to have what I catch fried for breakfast to-morrow."

  "Hope she won't starve!"

  "Hadn't you better run after a rabbit and catch it for her?"

  "Or shoot a cock sparrow?"

  "Come with us to drill and we'll make you a colonel of the regiment."

  "Or we'll practise ambulance work, and bind up your leg and carry youhome on a coat."

  "You've no idea what fun it would be."

  But Ronnie stuck to his guns. He had come out with the intention offishing, and not even the attractions of drill and ambulance could tempthim from trying his new shrimping net.

  "We shall expect a pilchard apiece," declared his friends, as they gaveup trying to cajole him and went on their way.

  "You won't get any; they're all for Auntie!" he shouted. "Yes, theyare, even if I catch shoals, and shoals, and shoals!"

  The girls laughed, talked about him for a moment or two, and thendismissed him from their minds. They were full of their practice for theafternoon. It was only this term that drill and ambulance had been takenup at the school, so they were still in the first heat of theirenthusiasm. On this occasion, too, Miss Barlow, a lady staying in theneighbourhood, who had been largely connected with the Girl Guidemovement in Australia, had promised to come and inspect them and givethem some of the results of her Colonial experience. A strip of greensward not far from the scene of the beacon fire made an excellent paradeground, and here they drew up in line to await the arrival of theirhonorary colonel, who was following with Miss Birks. Miss Barlow provedto be, like an old-fashioned children's book, "a combination ofamusement and instruction". She had extremely jolly, pleasant mannersand a fund of lively remarks, making everybody laugh heartily as shewent her round of inspection.

  "I'm glad you know the difference between left and right," she said."I'm told that country recruits for the army find such a difficulty indistinguishing between the two that their sergeant is sometimes obligedto make them tie a band of hay round one leg and a band of straw roundthe other. Then instead of calling out 'left--right--left--right' hesays 'hay--straw--hay--straw' until they have grown accustomed tomarch."

  "Do you find Colonial girls much quicker than English?" asked JessieMacpherson.

  "They are more resourceful, and very bright in suggesting fresh ideas,but they are not so willing to submit to discipline. They are more readyto copy a corps of roughriders than a Roman cohort. No doubt it is owingto the way they are brought up. Very few of them spend their early lifein the charge of nurses and governesses. From babyhood they are taughtto take care of themselves, to be prepared for emergencies, and to throwup whatever they may have in hand and go to the assistance of aneighbour who needs them. It is a training that makes them helpful andenergetic, but perhaps a little too independent to accord entirely withthe standards we keep at home. Our girls are more sheltered and guarded,and it is only natural that they should have a different style fromthose who must hold their own. I wish I could have introduced you tosome of my bright young Australian friends. I think you would find thesame charm about them that I do."

  Miss Barlow had many hints to give them on the subject of camp cookery.She showed the girls the quickest and most practical way to build afire, and the right situation to choose for it as regards shelter.

  "I wish we could have stayed here for a whole day and prepared our owndinner," she said. "It is wonderful how much can be done with athree-legged iron pot and some gorse to burn under it. We would havemade a most delicious stew. I should have liked to teach you to build acamp oven, but we should need a spade for that. One has to dig a holenearly a yard deep and wide, line it with stones, light a fire in it,then pop one's iron pot on to the mass of hot ashes, and cover the wholewith a roof of sticks and sods. I have often baked bread this way out inthe bush. Then you ought to know how to wrap up your food in cases ofgreen leaves and wet clay, to be cooked in the ashes round an ordinarycamp fire; and how to mix flour and water cakes when there is no yeastto be had for bread."

  "If only we could come and camp out with you here for a week!" sighedthe girls. "It would be ripping fun!"

  "Yes, if the weather were fine; but our English weather is apt to playunkind tricks. My brother is a doctor, and medical officer to a Boys'Brigade. At Whitsuntide he went with them to camp. It was delightful forthe first three days, then in the night a perfect blizzard arose and therain fell in torrents. The wind got under his tent and tore up some ofthe pegs, then half the canvas came flapping down, a wet mass, over hisbed. A tightly-stretched tent will keep out the weather, but if it getsloose and rests against anything inside, the rain will soak through, andyou can imagine the miserable condition. In preparing breakfast, &c.,all the boys got wretchedly wet, and to try to prevent their taking coldmy brother dosed them all with camphor. As there were eighty in camp,you can understand it took a long time to measure out the orthodox tendrops on to each separate lump of sugar. I am afraid the last patienthad full opportunity of catching the cold before he took the cure."

  "I expect the ancient Britons did camp cookery when they lived here,"suggested Irene Jordan.

  "No doubt they did. There are traces that a most early and primitivepeople, far older than the Celts whom Julius Caesar wrote about, musthave lived on this headland. We are sitting on the very remains of theirlittle circular huts. Look! you can trace the outlines of the ancientstone walls. Here a small community must have lived, and hunted andfished, and fetched limpets and periwinkles from the beach to eat asdessert. Probably the reindeer or the Irish elk still came to feed onthe mossy grass, and there would be a grand pursuit with bows andflint-tipped arrows. It must have been a great event to kill an elk. Thewhole primitive village would feast for days afterwards, toasting theflesh on little spits of wood. Then the women would prepare the skin andstitch it with bone needles into warm garments, and the horns would beused as picks or other implements, so that nothing was wasted. Theircamp cookery would have to be even more simple than ours, for they hadnot yet discovered the use of metals, so could not have a three-leggedcauldron. They boiled their water in a very curious manner, by droppingred-hot stones into it. It must have taken a long time and given rathera funny flavour to the joints, but no doubt they tasted delicious toNeolithic appetites."

  "I'd like to restore a few of the huts, and come and live in them for afew days, and pretend we were primitive folk," said Deirdre.

  "Mrs. T
revellyan has often talked of excavating them," remarked MissBirks. "I hope she will do so. It is quite possible that some veryinteresting relics of the Stone Age might be turned up. It wouldprobably fix the period when they were inhabited."

  "How long ago would that be?" asked one of the girls.

  "Most likely about two thousand years or more."

  The conversation at this point was interrupted, for in the distanceappeared Miss Herbert, running, beckoning and calling to them all atonce. In considerable alarm they went to meet her.

  "Where's Ronnie?" she gasped. "I've lost him! Oh, has anybody seen him?Is he here with you?"

  "He's certainly not here," said Miss Birks. "We've not seen him since wemet you an hour or more ago. When did you miss him, and where?"

  "On the beach," sobbed Miss Herbert hysterically. "He was playing withhis little shrimping net. I sat down to read my book, and I kept lookingto see that he was all right, and then suddenly he had disappeared. Ithought he must have trotted back round the point, so I followed, but Icouldn't find him. I hoped he'd come up here to you. It's very naughtyof him to run away."

  "We must find him at once," said Miss Birks gravely. "Girls, you hadbetter go in parties of three, each in a different direction. MissBarlow and I will go with Miss Herbert. We won't give up the searchuntil he is found."

  "Did he go round the other corner of the cove?" asked Gerda.

  "He couldn't. The waves were dashing quite high against the rocks. I'msure he would never venture," declared the distracted governess.

  "He's such a plucky little chap, he would venture anything."

  "Oh, surely not! He couldn't! He couldn't have gone there! He may haverun home!"

  "Better not waste any more time, but go and see what's become of him,"suggested Miss Birks rather dryly. She had always thought Miss Herberttoo easy-going where Ronnie was concerned.

  The bands of searchers set off in eight different directions, shouting,hallooing, cuckooing, and making every kind of call likely to attractthe child's attention. Some took the beach and some the cliffs, whileothers ran to the Castle to see if he had returned to the garden. Therehad never been such a hue and cry on the headland. That Ronnie should belost was an unparalleled disaster, and considering the many accidentswhich might possibly have happened to him, each of his friends searchedwith a deadly fear in her heart. Gerda, her once rosy face white aschalk, had flown along the cliffs with Deirdre and Dulcie, shouting hisname again and again.

  "He may have gone round the west corner, though Miss Herbert says hecouldn't," she panted. "Let us get on to the cliff above, where we canlook down. Oh, Ronnie! Ronnie! Cuckoo! Where are you? Cooee!"

  As Gerda gave the last long-drawn-out call she stopped suddenly andmotioned the others to silence. From the shore below there came a faintbut quite unmistakable response. Creeping to the verge of theoverhanging precipice Gerda peeped down. There, at a distance of fortyfeet beneath, stood Ronnie, a pathetic little figure, turning up a smallfrightened face and quavering a shrill "Cooee!" His position was one ofimminent danger. The point round which he had scrambled half an hourbefore was now covered with great dashing waves that hurled their sprayhigh into the air, and the narrow strip of shingle upon which he stoodwas rapidly growing smaller and smaller as the tide advanced. On eitherhand escape was impossible; behind him roared the sea, and in fronttowered the steep unscalable face of the cliff.

  "Gerda! Gerda!" he wailed piteously.

  Gerda turned to her companions almost like an animal at bay. Her lipswere white as her cheeks, her eyes blazed. "We must save him!" shechoked.

  "The life-boat! Let us fetch the life-boat!" cried Deirdre. "You stayhere and I'll run to Pontperran. Some of the others will go with me;Annie Pridwell is a fast runner. Cooee! Cooee! Ronnie is found!"

  Deirdre was very swift of foot and darted off like a hare, shouting hermessage to the nearest band of searchers. In an incredibly short spaceof time the news had spread, and all were hurrying towards the cliff.The ill tidings reached Mrs. Trevellyan at the Castle, and, sick withanxiety, she hastened to the spot, first sending one of her men to urgespeed in launching the life-boat. The tide was sweeping in fast, andnearer and nearer crept the cruel, hungry waves, as if thirsting tosnatch the little figure huddled at the foot of the cliff. Ronnie wastoo worn out and too frightened to call now; he lay watching theadvancing water with terror-stricken blue eyes, still grasping theshrimping net that had led him to this disaster.

  Could the life-boat possibly arrive in time? That was the question whicheach spectator asked dumbly, not daring to voice it in words. Nearer andever nearer swept the waves. Where there had been yards of shingle therewere only feet; soon it was a matter of inches. There was not a sign ofany boat to be seen. A sea-crow below flapped its wings like an omen ofdeath.

  "Tom and Smith have gone to fetch ropes," breathed Miss Birks, and hervoice broke the strain of almost intolerable silence.

  "There's not time to wait for them."

  "Can we do nothing?"

  "Oh, is there no way to save him?"

  Then Gerda stood up, with a sudden light shining in her clear eyes.

  "Yes, yes!" she cried. "There's the old windlass! I'm going down to himby that!"

  Years ago there had been a small find of china clay on the headland. Ithad been lowered in buckets over the side of the cliff to be taken awayby boat, and the remains of the apparatus, a derelict, rickety affair,stood within a few yards of the place where the watchers were gathered.A rusty bucket was still attached to the frayed, weather-worn ropetwisted round the roller. To descend by so frail a support was indeed arisk so great that only the most desperate necessity could justify it. Ageneral murmur of horror arose from those assembled.

  "It's the one chance--I'm going to try it," repeated Gerda. "You canlower me gently by the handle. I'm going to save him--or die with him."

  She began rapidly to unwind the windlass so as to allow the bucket toreach the edge of the cliff. Realizing that she was in grim earnest, theothers offered no further objection, and came eagerly to her assistance.She had seized the rope and was about to step into the bucket when astrong hand put her aside. The stranger in the brown jersey had silentlyjoined himself to the group.

  "This is my place," he said firmly. "I am going down the cliff. Holdhard, there! Pay out the rope gently and don't let me go with a run orI'm done for. Easy! Easy! Give me more rope when I call."

  So quickly did he substitute himself for Gerda that he was over the edgeof the cliff almost before anyone had realized what was taking place.The onlookers held their breath as they watched the perilous descent.The bucket swayed from side to side and bumped against the rock, butholding on to the rope with one hand the man managed with the other tokeep himself from injury. Down--down--down he swung, till, clear of thecliff, he dangled, as it seemed, in mid-air.

  "Now, rope! More rope!" he called. "Quicker!"

  The windlass creaked on the rusty axle, there was a rush, a drop, thena shout of triumph. The next moment he had snatched Ronnie in his arms.Ringing cheers reached him from above, but the battle was only half wonafter all. There was still no sign of the life-boat; a wave sweptalready over his feet. The only road to safety lay up the cliffside.Would the old weather-worn rope stand the double strain? There was notime for questioning. Telling Ronnie to hold on tightly round his neckhe once more entered the bucket and gave the signal for the ascent. Tothe anxious hearts of the watchers the next few minutes seemed aneternity. Those at the windlass turned the handle slowly and steadily inresponse to the shouts from below. If there had been danger before, theperil now was trebled. With a child clinging round his neck it was farmore difficult for the stranger to keep clear of the rock. The oldworn-out machine creaked and groaned like one in mortal agony. Life ordeath hung on the strength of a rusted piece of chain and a half-rottenhempen rope. Up! Up! Up! Would the suspense never end? Only a few yardsnow and the watchers were waiting to help. Once more the rickety axlecreaked and shivered, then the stranger's
head and shoulders appearedover the edge of the cliff, and eager hands grasped him and pulled himgently forward on to firm ground. He had lost his hat in the descent,and now the sunlight fell full on his clear-cut features and his fair,closely-cropped hair.

  "You--L'Estrange! You! You!" shrieked Mrs. Trevellyan wildly.

  But for answer he placed Ronnie in her arms, and pushing his way throughthe excited group ran off over the warren and was out of sight beforethe lookers-on had recovered from their amazement. By the time thelife-boat had made its way round the coast from Pontperran harbour greatbreakers were crashing against the face of the rock with a dull boomingand showers of foam, as if angry to have been cheated of their prey.

  "No one could live for a moment in this cruel sea!" exclaimed Deirdre,shuddering with horror as she thought how the fierce water would havedashed and tossed and crushed the little helpless figure left to themercy of the waves.

  "Ronnie will be doubly dear to us now," said Miss Birks, marshalling hergirls together and turning to leave the cliff.