Chapter VII: Poor Antony Was Drowning!

The small river or streamlet close to Antony's camp was called the Burn o' Bogie, and here in a pretty little boathouse, thatched and cosy, which Chops had built with his own hands, lay Lotty's yacht the _Jenny Wren_.

A seaworthy morsel of a boat it was, but certainly not broad enough in the beam for safety, though she suited Lotty very well indeed.

Nay, more, Wallace often went with his little mistress. For so very young a dog he was wondrous wise; he used to sit or lie amidships exactly in the spot where his Lotty placed a shawl for him. And Wallace must have weighed nearly nine stone, so he might easily have capsized the skiff, especially when under sail.

On such occasions Lotty would only have to say very quietly before she hauled off the sheet, 'Trim boat, Wallace,' and some instinct taught him he must keep well up towards the weaker side.

But, athlete though he was, Antony was no sailor; nevertheless he wished to be, and was glad enough to be taught even by so young a little skipper as Lotty. On fine days she took him out with her on purpose, and with a very few lessons he could manage, or thought he could, fairly well.

Well, one forenoon he rashly determined to have a little cruise all by himself.

He forgot that with Lotty in the bows the yacht was not so much down by the stern as his weight, when alone, placed it. Indeed, while sailing, if she entrusted the tiller and sheet to him, she herself--the little skipper--crept right for'ard into the bows and issued her orders from that position--orders which he took very seriously indeed, for if he had not done so the _Jenny Wren_ might have broached-to or gone slick on her beam-ends.

It was some considerable time before Antony got up to obeying all orders, or even understanding them: 'Ease sheet!' 'Down helm!' 'Luff a little!' &c. And indeed it is not certain that Lotty, mischievous little mouse, didn't sometimes invent an order for the sake of confusing her charge somewhat.

'What is it? How is it?' he would cry. 'Tell me in plain English, Lotty. What am I to do with this bit of stick?' The bit of stick was the tiller.

Sometimes she would laugh right out at the serious aspect of his face; but she would praise him when he did well.

That was an unfortunate forenoon for Antony, when, confident in his own seamanship, he made

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up his mind to venture to sea alone in the _Jenny Wren_.

Lotty was at a rehearsal of some kind, else I'm sure she would not have permitted him.

There was a slight but delightful breeze that day, and he did not mean to go far. The wind seemed very steady too, so he gained heart as he went out. 'It is so easy,' he said to himself, 'and so jolly, that'--well, yes--he would smoke.

Then he made the all but fatal mistake of fastening the sheet until he should light up.

It wouldn't matter for a minute or two he thought, and surely a boat is no more difficult to manage than a bicycle.

But a boat really seems to be like a horse, and knows when there is a lubber at the helm.

It was not a squall--a real squall--only a bit of a puff, but Antony couldn't let fly the sheet in time, and the tiller got in the way. It is to be feared that he said, 'Hang the thing!' but he found himself in the water next moment in a dreadfully awkward position, with the _Jenny Wren_ on her side.

He sank, and perhaps it was well for him he did, for he managed to clear his feet; and although the water was roaring in his ears, and he had swallowed a lot of it, he got to the surface and at once struck out for the boat, which was only a short distance off.

He thought he could right her. He was mistaken, for he only puffed himself, and the _Jenny_ filled and slowly sank, sail and broken mast and all.

Antony could not have believed it was so difficult to swim a long way with clothes on. At first it appeared to be so easy. But, instead of getting nearer to the shore, it looked receding from him. He tried floating. Oh, it was horrible, so he began to swim again; but soon got excited and put more strokes into it than there was any necessity for.

He tried treading water, but the cruel waves lapped up over his face and almost suffocated him. Poor Antony was drowning!

He knew not that, at this very moment, two men in a camp-boat were dashing rapidly on towards him.

Drowning!

Did the events of his past life come up in review before him? No, that is but landlubbers' nonsense. There were the horrid noises in his ears, flashes of bright confused light in his eyes, a terrible sensation of choking, and a feeling of pain in the top of the head, then--nothingness.

* * * * *

Mary and Skeleton and Chops, with others, were on the beach when, through the surf, the rescuing boat sped in and grounded. The two men leapt quickly out and dragged her high and dry, then, to poor Lotty's horror and anguish, the apparently lifeless body of Frank Antony Blake was lifted out and laid on the sand.

One of his arms fell right over a tuft of green benty grass whereon a bush of sea-pinks was blooming. It looked as if in death he was hugging the flowers.

'He is dead!'

That was Biffins's remark. And he stood there callous-looking, touching the body with his toe.

The terrible truth is that this matter-of-fact gipsy was wondering how much he would get for the 'Gipsy Queen' caravan when he resold her.

'No--no--fa--father, he is not dead!'

Lotty could hardly speak for the time being. She felt choking, and tore at her neck, while her face grew hot and flushed.

But in a few seconds she gasped and recovered self-possession. She now remembered that she had a book in the caravan which gave instructions how to restore the apparently drowned. Part of the instructions she could repeat, and did to the men.

'Do that,' she cried, 'till I come back with the book.'

Then she tore off to the 'Silver Queen,' and, book in hand, when she returned, she proceeded to issue instructions to the men, which they tried to obey to the letter.

But she had time to call Chops. 'Mount,' she said, 'mount my horse Renegade and fly for Dr Wilson.'

In a minute or two more, though white and breathless, Chops was off like the wild wind along the sands.

On how very small a thread the life of a human being sometimes--nay, but often--hangs! Lotty, it is true, was doing her best by the rules to revive the English stranger, if indeed there were the slightest sparks of life remaining in his heart; and wonderfully calm and determined she was, determined to do her little utmost until the doctor might come. And this, too, in spite of the words of discouragement cruelly meted out to her and her assistants every now and then by Biffins Lee.

'I don't think, boys, you can do much more. It is easy to see the man is dead. Better carry him up now. Poor fellow, he is in a better world than we are!'

Long after this these very words seemed to come back to Lotty in all their heartless force. But at present, hoping against hope, she bade the men persevere.

'The chances are'--this was Lee's last shot--'that Chops won't find the doctor at home at this time of the day.'

Now, the fact is, that at this very time good Dr Wilson was on his way walking to see a case about a mile from the camp.

Chops met him. He slid rather than jumped off the good Renegade, and the well-trained horse stood instantly still.

Chops had just strength enough to slip the bridle quickly into the doctor's hand. 'Ride,' he cried. 'Ride, doctor, for the love of our heavenly Father.'

The doctor was mounted.

'Back, sir, back to our camp. The beach--drowned--Lotty is'----

Dr Wilson was off at the gallop. And such a gallop, for the good animal appeared to know that it was a case of death or life.

But Lotty--that was the last word he had heard--was a favourite with the doctor, as with every one who knew her. Oh, to think that she, in her beauty and youth, should be lying stark and wet and stiff upon the sands!

Neither whip nor spur needed Renegade, and a real shout went up from those on the beach as soon as the rider appeared.

He rushed into the crowd. It was only Mr Blake, and he felt relieved. But he was to do his duty, and had it been Biffins Lee himself, whom the surgeon neither respected nor loved, he would have done that duty faithfully and well.

'Back, men, back!' he cried.--'Biffins, keep your people away,' he added almost angrily, for he could see callousness in this gipsy's hang-dog face. 'We want air--air.--Mary, go at once and prepare the gentleman's bed. Heat blankets and boil water.--Lotty, my darling'--this was spoken most tenderly--'run and assist Mary.--Now, off with your warm coats, men; strip off the poor gentleman's things; roll him up and keep rubbing. I'll do the rest.'

In two minutes' time there was blood mantling in Antony's face and a gasping sigh. In a short time natural breathing recommenced, the pulse was beating, and slowly, though somewhat irregularly, the wheels of life were once more moving, and he was able to swallow.

Next morning, though hoarse and in a little pain, Antony was well enough to be up. He had been very bad during the night, however, and fat Mary had taken it in turns with the child Lotty to watch by his bedside all throughout the long, still hours.

Chops brought in his breakfast. Lotty, he told our hero, had gone to lie down, so he was a little anxious. But about twelve o'clock, lo! the little gipsy lass herself came tripping up the steps with a lapful of autumn wild-flowers. Then Antony thrust out both his great strong arms and pulled her right up and pressed her, flowers and all, to his heart.

'You dear, sweet child,' he said, 'I'll never know how to thank you for my worthless life. You're the cherub, Lotty, who sits up aloft to--to'----

'But I mustn't sit up aloft,' she said naïvely, and wriggled down.

Yet in his gratitude he had kissed her brow and her bonny hair, and now he set her to arrange the flowers, watching her every action as she did so.

There would be nothing doing in Biffins's camp to-day; and as the doctor forbade Antony to go out, that same afternoon Lotty and Wallace came to the 'Gipsy Queen' with the violin. Wallace did not play, though he looked clever enough for anything; but during the performance of his little mistress he lay on the sofa on a rug which Antony had put there for him and never took his eyes off the child, often heaving big sighs, and one cannot really help wondering what dogs are thinking about when they behave in this way. Does the playing actually bring them pleasure, or do they but suffer the music in silent sorrow? Who can answer? One thing at least is certain: man's friend the dog knows far more than people who do not know him would give him credit for. But Antony was really and truly thrilled by this child's remarkable performance. He was much surprised, however, when presently she suddenly laid down both fiddle and bow and burst into a flood of tears. Antony was astonished--thunderstruck, one might say; and if there was anything more than another that could appeal to this young fellow's manly heart it was the tears of grief. But she was quickly better and smiling again; only, although he tried to find out the cause of the sudden outbreak he utterly failed. All she would say was, 'It is nothing. I will tell you some time, or Mary or Crona will tell you.'

But the truth was not far to seek; for, just as she was playing, she happened to look out of the window and her eyes fell on her father. His face was hard-set and stern; and this, coupled with his language at the time when Antony was brought to the beach apparently dead, caused Lotty to believe now that he was really not over-well pleased that his guest had been brought back to life again.