Chapter 7 IT'S ALL MY FAULT

The port of Beauleigh has a fine harbour and splendid docks generally crowded with shipping. To the west of the harbour lies a sandy bay, while still farther west the coast becomes rugged and dangerous. When the tide is out, the rocks form a favourite playground for the boys of the neighbourhood, as also, at the time of our story, did the Old Fort. This is a ruined tower standing well out in the bay, and approached at low water by a stone bridge built up from the bottom of the sea.

The width of this bridge is about sufficient to allow of two persons walking abreast, and here and there pieces have been knocked off by the action of the waves. At high tide it is covered to a height of several feet. The tower itself is so old that its origin was a matter for dispute among many learned men. Some said it had been built as a lighthouse; others that it was a real fort; while a third party declared that its original purpose was to serve as a prison for the king's enemies. The Beauleigh boys, without deciding on these abstruse matters, unanimously voted that it was a jolly place for a good game.

Not having any business there, they found it the more attractive, especially as there was a real element of danger in playing there at dusk. The notice-board marked "Dangerous" and the warning to trespassers added spice to their enjoyment. Now and again it was proposed by the townspeople to demolish the tower, as it no longer served any useful purpose; but somehow nothing was done.

Despite the danger, accidents rarely happened; the last one, in fact, was beyond the memory of even the oldest inhabitant.

Before joining the ranks of the workers Jim had played many a game both on the rocks and at the Fort, and his companions were glad to have him back.

"Here's Jim Hartland coming down with the Angel!" cried one.

Mrs. Hartland, thinking a good game would "blow the cobwebs," had urged him to go with Dick. He had been gloomy enough on the way down, but he brightened up at the boys' welcome, and threw himself heartily into the games. Whether he had done well or badly, the examination was over, and he might as well enjoy his brief holiday.

First they had their favourite military game. For this they divided into two parties-one, under Dick, defending the Fort; the second, led by Jim, trying to force an entrance. The besieged warriors performed prodigies of valour; but the enemy were too strong, and after a desperate fight succeeded in storming the outworks and putting the garrison to the sword. Then the Angel, scorning to surrender, seized his battered flag, and with a shout of defiance, leaped from the battlements, taking particular care, however, to come down where the sand was nice and soft.

After this some one proposed a game of "I spy!" among the rocks, to which the others readily agreed.

As they were scampering along Dick cried out, "Hullo! there's Braithwaite!-Come on, Dandy, and have a game! 'Twill do you good after all that dry stuff at Gayton to-day!"

"All right," replied Braithwaite, who did not often join in these rough sports; "where are you going?"

"Up to the rocks. Come along; we'll give the rest a breather!" And off he went, light of foot and heart and, I am afraid, somewhat light of head. Indeed it was partly owing to one of his mischievous pranks that the incident which I am about to relate occurred.

After playing a considerable time on the rocks, they went back across the bay. It was getting dusk now, and the tide, though still some distance out, was flowing shoreward. Some of the boys, wishing their companions good-night, started for home; five or six gathered at the stone bridge for a chat.

Then it was that Dick Boden made his unfortunate proposal.

"I've thought of a ripping game," said he. "See this knife? I'll hide it somewhere in the Old Fort, and you can try to find it."

"It will soon be dark," objected Braithwaite.

"Not too dark to see the knife, for a bit."

"The tide's coming in too, and you know how fast it comes in just here."

"Oh, go on, Dick!" cried Jim scornfully; "don't take any notice of him: he's always showing the white feather!"

Braithwaite flushed. "You think you're very brave, Jim Hartland," he said, "but you're no braver than any one else. I'm not afraid of going to the Fort."

"Oh, not a bit!" sneered Jim; "you'd walk across to France if the sea was all dry land. Make haste, Dick; we'll come on slowly. Call out when you're ready."

Dick, who was now half-way across, soon disappeared in the ruin, and presently they heard him shouting, "Come on!"

Perhaps the catastrophe might not have occurred even then; but, unfortunately, Jim, who was eager to be first, put out his hand to push Braithwaite aside; whereupon the latter, evidently thinking this a challenge, ran forward. Jim followed with young Moon, and two others brought up the rear.

"Bravo, Dandy!" cried Dick, who was waiting for them. "Now then, spread yourselves out, my amateur detectives, and search for the lost property. Well done, Dandy; you're hot on the scent. O Tommy Moon, O Tommy Moon, I'm sure you'll find it very soon."

Whether Braithwaite remembered the danger I cannot tell, but the others forgot everything in hunting for the knife and listening to Dick's nonsense. Laughing and joking, he led them on, keeping their noses to the grindstone, as it were, though without result.

"I don't believe he's hidden it at all!" grumbled Tom Moon at last, stretching his cramped legs.

"You young fraud!" cried Jim suddenly; "I believe the knife's in your pocket."

"I told you 'twas a ripping game!" chuckled the Angel, preparing to run. "Whoop!" And he was off like a shot.

"After him!" cried Jim. Then from those nearest the bridge came a shout of "Make haste! Quick! quick! The water's in!"

A sudden gust of wind blew Jim's cap into the dry well of the Fort, and a considerable time passed before he could scramble out; then, for a moment, he stood helpless and amazed.

The sky was dark and overcast with black clouds scudding in from the sea; the tide had half filled the bay; the waves were washing the bridge and increasing in violence every second. Dick and the others were racing along the slippery path, and had by this time almost gained safety.

"Thank goodness they're safe!" said he. "Shall I risk it? I think not. I'll climb to the top of the tower till the tide goes down, or perhaps a boatman will take me off."

He was turning to go back when a yell from the shore attracted his attention, and looking along the bridge again, he exclaimed, "Good gracious! what's that fool of a Braithwaite doing? He'll be washed off for certain.-Hi, Braithwaite, Braithwaite! come back! D'you hear? Come back! You'll be all right here in the Fort."

The boy in the middle of the pathway moved neither backward nor forward. It was poor Braithwaite, who, though far from being a coward, was overwhelmed by the startling suddenness of the danger. He could not swim, and the possibility of being drowned unnerved him. Instead of following the others, he had stopped short on the bridge, too dazed to move, though the peril increased every moment.

Even now, with care and a little luck, he might have got safely through, but he did not try. In vain the boys on shore shouted; in vain Jim yelled from the fort; he seemed not to hear.

"He'll be drowned," groaned Jim-"he's bound to be. And," with a sudden rush of memory, "it's all my fault. If I hadn't chaffed him, he would have been at home now."

Raising his voice, he once more shouted, "Braithwaite, Braithwaite, come back; it's quite safe here!" But it appeared as if the unhappy boy had lost all power to move.

It was not only useless, it might be fatal, to wait longer. Taking out his pocket-knife, Jim cut the laces of his boots, slipped them off, and put them in a safe place. Then he laid his coat and waistcoat by them, muttering, "Better go light, in case of accident."

"Keep your footing, Braithwaite!" he yelled; "I'm coming."

Full of their play, the boys had not noticed the signs of the coming storm. It was sweeping in now. The sky had darkened. Across the bay the great white sea-horses were leaping madly at the jagged rocks. The boys on shore had disappeared, but Jim knew the Angel would not desert him.

Cautiously but swiftly he trod the path, over which the waves were breaking with increased violence, leaping and dancing as if in glee. Suddenly a clap of thunder pealed right overhead, and for an instant the town was lit up by a vivid illumination. Jim staggered on, barely able to keep his footing now, for the wash of the waves reached his waist, and the path was deeply submerged. He began to fear that, encumbered by Braithwaite, he would never reach either shore or fort, but he did not quite despair.

"Keep a firm hold, Braithwaite," he cried; "I'm coming!"

From first to last the incident lasted but a short time, though to Jim it seemed a century. He thought or his mother, scarcely recovered from her illness, and of his helpless sister; but most of all he thought that, but for his folly, poor Braithwaite would not now be in danger. Again and again he said to himself, "It's all my fault."

Once more he shouted, "Keep up, Dandy!" but in reply there came a piercing cry-a cry so full of agony that Jim has never forgotten and is never likely to forget it. That which he dreaded from the first had happened. Unable to preserve his footing any longer, Braithwaite had been swept into the water.

Heedless of his own danger, Jim pushed on rapidly, when another scream reached him, and through the gathering dusk he caught sight for a moment of the boy's head above the waves. He was taking a terrible risk, but he could not see him drown; so with a cheery shout he sprang into the sea, and with swift, powerful strokes swam to the aid of his drowning companion.

"Don't struggle, Dandy, and don't catch hold of me," he cried; but the advice was futile. Braithwaite was sinking a second time, and not realizing what he was doing, he clutched his rescuer tightly around the throat.

Jim fought desperately to release himself, and at length succeeded in unlocking the clinging arms. Then, dragging the almost lifeless boy, he rose to the surface, but not before swallowing a large quantity of salt water.

By this time Braithwaite's struggles had ceased, and supporting him with one hand, Jim turned over on his back. Twice he called loudly for help, but no voice replied; on shouting a third time he fancied he heard an encouraging shout in reply.

Alone he would have felt little alarm, but this dead weight tired him. He made scanty progress, and before long felt that he must go down. Still, he never once thought of deserting Dandy; he would save him, or perish in the attempt.

The waves were rolling fiercely, his breast was sore as if beaten with heavy hammers, he gasped for breath, and the salt water poured into his open mouth.

"Help!" he cried, "help!" And surely that was Dicky's voice he heard in answer.

He strained his ears to listen, and the sound came again. He recognized the words now-"Jim! Jim! where are you?"-and put all his remaining strength into one last cry of despair.

Help must come quickly, or it would be too late. His strength was failing, his mind wandering.

"It's all my fault, Dandy," he murmured, "but I'll do my best. I'll stick to you. Look at the star! It's getting bigger and brighter. It's coming this way. Look! it's dancing up and down!" And he broke into loud laughter.

He had ceased swimming now, and was merely keeping himself and his silent companion afloat, almost without knowing that he did so.