Chapter IV: The Wreck on the "devil's Tooth."

At the best of times the rock called the "Devil's Tooth" was by no means beautiful. It stood with five points towering into the air like the prongs of a great tooth, and at its feet were scores of smaller rocks, mostly hidden by the water.

Strange stories have been told about it. Some have said that on stormy nights emissaries of Satan sit there, and lure vessels on to destruction; but at the time I had no thought for such stories. The terrible crash of the vessel was still echoing in my ears, and, in my fancy, I heard above the howling of the storm the shrieks of the perishing.

We could not see much. The moon was full, but had been hidden by the clouds. Only by the light of the storm, which was nearly darkness, could we perceive anything. I know that my words are almost paradoxical, but I can express my meaning in no better way. Still, our eyes were accustomed to the darkness of a storm, and thus both my father and I had some idea of what we were doing.

Slowly we made our way. Carefully my father sought to evade unnecessary danger.

It was terrible work. Now we were lifted on the pinnacle of a wave, and again we sank deep in dark gulfs, until I thought we should never rise again. But every man was strong and hardy, every man had braved a dozen storms, and so we struggled on.

But for my father's thorough knowledge of the coast we must have perished. With his knowledge there was hope. Suddenly we found ourselves in comparatively smooth water and out of the beat of the wind. We had shot into the "lew" (sheltered) side of the rock, and were able for a moment to rest.

"She is just around the point," said my father.

"Iss, Maaster Trewinion," was the reply.

"The question is, How can we get to them?" said my father. "If we try to get our boat around there it means death for all of us. The only means of saving the poor souls, if they are not all gone already, is for us to scale the rock here and make our way to those on board. Then they might be brought here one by one."

"You see'd her break on the rock didn' 'ee, Maaster Trewinion?" said one.

"Yes," replied my father, "she broke close against the long prong."

"Then ef she edn't gone to pieces there may be hope," replied the man; "but who can climb up here?"

"Two will be enough," said my father; "who'll go first?"

"Let me," said I.

"Not yet, Roger," said my father.

Two others immediately volunteered, and started to climb, but the rock was slippery, and there was only one way by which the top could be reached.

They failed in their attempt.

"Tie a rope round my waist, father," I cried. "I've climbed it many times and know the way."

"Go, then, Roger, my boy, and may God preserve you."

It was only because of my boyish freaks that I knew the easiest way to reach the summit of the rock. One day I had laid a wager with Wilfred that I could climb to its summit, and so I had carefully examined it when the tide was low, and after once climbing it, I had often gone thither to hunt for the nests of sea-birds.

All my knowledge was necessary now. The stones were slippery as glass, and I had to feel carefully for the jutting rocks in order to get from one point to another. A false step, a bit of crumbling rock, a slip of the hand would have destroyed our hopes, and perhaps have maimed me for life, if not killed me. Providence, however, was in my favour. After many a strain and many a struggle I reached the top.

I shall never forget the sight that met me. Even in the hour of death I think I shall remember the terrible scene. Holding fast by a rugged peak I could in the stormlight dimly see the five huge prongs of the "Devil's Tooth," grim and ghastly; while upon them broke the great black waves!

How the breakers roared! How the wind howled as it beat upon the great rock on which I stood! Whenever the waves receded I could see the white foam all round, while the spray beat pitilessly upon me. I had never seen the like before. It is an awful thing to watch a storm from the shore; but to stand in the midst of it, to hear it all round you, is more awful!

I heard a shout from beneath. "Do you see the wreck?" was the query.

I looked in the direction of the long prong and saw the outline of the vessel.

"Yes," I replied, "but I shall want help to get to her. There! I've fastened the rope to a rock, let Bill Tregargus come up."

Instantly, by the tugging of the rope, I knew that some one was coming, and a little later the giant form of Bill Tregargus was beside me.

We made our way to the wreck, and as we drew nearer I was sure I saw people clinging to the half broken mast. Nearer and nearer we came, and then, to our joy, we saw that two men had got from the vessel and were now trying to scale the rock.

"There's hope yet, Bill," I said. "Have you brought the rope with you?"

"Part on't, Maaster Roger, and part I tied to the rock."

I shouted as loud as I could, but I was unable to make them hear. The thunder of the storm made my little shout of no avail. I called to the people on the vessel, but there was no response.

Meanwhile the waves swept over the doomed vessel, and roared along the cruel rocks. There seemed but little chance of our rendering help. Even we, sheltered as we were by the great prongs of the rock, found it difficult to stand.

I took the rope from Bill, and, holding one end in my hand, I threw it straight to the men, who I could see were struggling below. The effort succeeded. It was immediately caught, and soon we got a man on the top of the rock.

"Many on board?" I asked.

"Twelve," he gasped.

"Can you make the other one tell the crew to do as you have done?"

We looked again, seeking for the best method to signal, and to our delight saw that those on the vessel realised that help was come. In the dim light I could see that they were leaving the vessel.

It was only a question of time. One by one, we pulled them up, some bruised and beaten, but still hopeful, others gasping for life, and others again dazed and faint.

We asked no questions; it was our work to save them first and question them afterwards; and so, one after another, man by man, they reached the summit of the rock.

At length we came to the last man. He was getting old and stiff. Even in the night I could see that he was bent and weak.

"Are you all here?" I asked, when he had reached the top.

The old man who had last come up looked around him, and then cried out:

"But where is Miss Ruth?"

"Miss Ruth?" gasped two or three; "is she not here?"

"No woman has come up," I replied.

"Then Miss Ruth is still on the vessel," cried the old man. "Wretch, wretch, that I am to leave her."

"But she left the vessel," replied another; "why, Tom Poltewan said he was going to help her down."

"She said she must get something from the cabin," said another, "and I didn't see her. I thought Mr. Inch would be sure to take care of her."

Then followed a confusion of tongues, and in the storm I did not distinguish what was said. Evidently in the great anxiety to escape death a woman had been overlooked. But she must be rescued. The work which had been begun must be completed. Surely God who had helped us thus far would not desert us now?

What was to be done, however, had to be done quickly. The vessel had struck on a great rock, the billows were sweeping over her, and she might go to pieces any minute. The storm, although it had not yet reached its full height, was rapidly rising, the wind blew louder and louder, until we could scarcely hear each other speak. The men we had saved were battered and bruised and nearly unconscious. As I think of it now it is a wonder to me that they escaped death.

I tied the rope round my waist, and then asked Bill to lower me down by the slippery rock. At first he objected to this, but I insisted, and soon stood upon a broad flat ledge which was close to the wreck.

My object now was to get upon the vessel, but that was not easy of accomplishment; the great breakers were constantly sweeping over the vessel, and I began to despair of rendering assistance. I determined to try, however, and after many vain attempts, reached the deck. To look for anyone there was madness. No woman could stay in such a place. Either she had been swept away or she must be down below. In spite of storm and darkness I found my way there. The vessel was half full of water, and I felt that it would be worse than useless to attempt to find anyone in the darkness. Just then I heard a cry for help.

I cannot describe what followed. I have a dim recollection of grasping a cold hand, of struggling to the deck, of holding fast by the broken mast, and of a terrible wave that swept me quite away. After that all was oblivion.

When I woke to consciousness I was in my own bed, with my father and Deborah Teague sitting near me. At first everything seemed hazy, then things became more real, until all the events of the storm flashed before my mind.

"How did I come here?" I asked.

"God helped us to save you, Roger, my boy," said my father.

"How?" I asked, faintly.

"I got impatient of your being away so long, and so one of the other lads succeeded in getting on the rock, while I, wanting to be near you, followed him. I got to the long prong in time to see you swept off the deck."

"And then, father?"

"Then I went down to the broad ledge and found you both unconscious. You had been stunned by the awful force with which you were hurled on the rock."

"And she, father, the--the--one who was with me?"

"We got you both in the boat after awhile. God only knows the difficulty we had, for the storm rose every minute. Had the rock been further out at sea I don't think we could have weathered it; but the gridiron point broke the force of the wind just a little!"

"And is she well, father?"

"A great deal bruised, my boy, and very weak, but she'll recover."

"Who is she?" I asked after being silent for a few moments.

"Her name is Ruth Morton; she is my old friend's only child," answered my father, slowly.

I turned on my pillow wearily. I was tired and sore, and wanted rest.

"That's right," said my father, "go to sleep again, I'll send the doctor to you, and he, together with Mrs. Teague, will soon make you well."

He left the room as he spoke. Deborah looked keenly at me.

"You'll soon git well, Maaster Roger," she said presently.

"I think I shall," I replied, "I am far from dead yet."

"Iss, iss," she repeated, "you'll soon git well, Maaster Roger, but old Deborah was right. The storm and the stranger comed together, ded'n um?"

I did not answer.

"Maaster Roger must be of good heart," she continued, "for he ain't a seed the end of this ere matter yet."

I asked her to explain herself, but she would not. She sat silently by my bedside until the doctor came and gave me a sleeping draught, after which I remembered nothing for a long while.

I lay in my bed for more than a week. During that time my mother came to see me twice, while Wilfred came only once. Evidently they did not care much about my recovery. I was grieved at this, for in my heart I loved them sincerely. My father told me, however, that Ruth Morton was recovering, and was anxiously looking forward to the time when she would be able to see me, and thank me for what I had done. In spite of this, however, I did not ask many questions about her, and when, after some days, I was pronounced well enough to see her, I cannot say I looked forward with any pleasure to our meeting. Perhaps the reason for this was that I hated to be thanked, or perhaps it was that I did not like talking to girls, but be that as it may I was in no happy frame of mind when my father led me to the room where she sat. I remember that my blood rushed to my face as for the first time I saw the one I had probably saved from death.

Perhaps my sadness foreboded the dark days that came afterwards.