Down they went, but a swirl in the treacherous waves swept the boat two or three fathoms to leeward. Instantly they were both in the sea, but Guy did not loosen his hold or lose his presence of mind for a moment.

Bax hauled on the rope and raised him half out of the water for a few seconds; the boat made a wild sheer towards them, and the missionary uttered a cry of agony as he fancied his child was about to be run down, perhaps killed, before his eyes; but the cry was transformed into a shout of joy and thanksgiving when he saw one of the lifeboat's crew seize Guy by the hair, and another catch his daughter by a portion of her dress. They were quickly pulled into the boat.

To save the remainder was now a matter of less difficulty. The missionary was the only one left on the mast who was not able more or less to take care of himself; but the joy consequent on seeing his daughter saved infused new vigour into his frame. He and the others were finally got off--Bax being the last to quit the wreck--and then the lifeboat pulled away from the dangerous shoals and made for the land.

Finding it impossible to reach Broadstairs, owing to the direction of the gale, they pulled in an oblique direction, and, after narrowly escaping an upset more than once, gained Deal beach not far from Sandown Castle, where the boat was run ash.o.r.e.

Here there was a large concourse of boatmen and others awaiting them.

The men in the lugger,--seeing the lifeboat come up and feeling that the storm was almost too much for them, and that their services were not now required,--had returned to the sh.o.r.e and spread the news.

The instant the lifeboat touched the shingle, a huge block and tackle were hooked on to her, the capstan connected with these was already manned, and the boat was run up high and dry with the crew in her.

The cheers and congratulations that followed were checked however, when the discovery was made that Guy Foster was lying in a state of insensibility!

When the boat sheered towards him and Lucy, as already described, he had seen the danger and warded it away from the girl by turning his own person towards it. No one knew that he had been hurt. Indeed, he himself had scarcely felt the blow, but a deep cut had been made in his head, which bled so copiously that he had lain down and gradually became insensible.

His head was bandaged by Bluenose in a rough and ready fashion; a couple of oars with a sail rolled round them were quickly procured, and on this he was borne off the beach, followed by his friends and a crowd of sympathisers.

"Where to?" inquired one of the men who supported the litter.

"To Sandhill Cottage," said Bax; "it's his mother's house, and about as near as any other place. Step out, lads!"

Before they were off the beach the dull report of a cannon-shot was heard. It came from the light-ship, and immediately after a rocket flew up, indicating by the direction in which it sloped that another vessel was in distress on the shoals.

All thought of those who had just been rescued was forgotten by the crew of the lifeboat. Those of them who had not been too much exhausted by previous toil and exposure leaped into their seats. The places of those who were unable to go off again were instantly filled by eager boatmen.

Dozens of stout arms thrust her--crew and all seated as they were--down into the lashing surf. There was a short sharp struggle between the st.u.r.dy men and the heavy rollers, which threatened not only to swamp the boat but to hurl her back, stem over stern, upon the shingle, and in a few minutes more she was forcing her way through wind, and waves, and spray, on this her second errand of mercy that night to the Goodwin Sands.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

THE WIDOW'S COTTAGE.

"About a thousand ships are wrecked, and nearly a thousand lives are lost on the sh.o.r.es of this country _every year_," was still the burden of Mrs Foster's dreams when she was aroused by a loud knocking at the door of her cottage, and the sound of confused voices and trampling of many feet outside.

"Ho! goodness gracious me, ma'am," cried worthy Mrs Laker, bursting into her mistress's apartment--"if here ain't a thousand robbers as is come for to pillidge the ouse an' trample down the garding. It's from the hattic winder, I see 'em with the moon, if w'ant the lightenin' a glanshin' on their 'orrid faces as is never shaved nor washed, and it's bin my dream from the years of unsuspectious hinfancy, as is come for to pa.s.s now in the days of my womanhood, with dead bodies carryin' too, w'ich is wuss. Ho! dear, wot _shall_ I do!"

"Go and put on your clothes while I open the door," said Amy Russell, entering hastily at the moment in a state of comparative dishabille, with a shawl thrown round her. "Dear mamma, don't be alarmed; it must be a mistake. They cannot mean us any harm, I am certain. May I go and open the door?"

"Open the door!" shrieked Mrs Laker in the tone of one almost paralysed by astonishment; "open the door to a thousand robbers with swords, and guns, and blood, and dead bodies!"

As Mrs Laker was robed in her night-gown, and stood erect, with her arms extended and her hair dishevelled, she looked dreadfully tragic and awful, while these fearful words flowed from her pale lips.

"Hush, Laker," said Mrs Foster, hastily throwing on her garments with trembling hands, while she made a strong effort to restrain her agitation, "go, dear Amy, and ask what they want; but don't open the door."

She followed Amy to the landing outside, leaving Mrs Laker, glaring in sceptical amazement, in the middle of the room. Presently, Amy was heard downstairs speaking through the key-hole. A man's voice replied; there was a suppressed scream and immediately the outer door was unlocked, the chain removed, and the bolts withdrawn. This was followed by the heavy tramp of men in the pa.s.sage below, and a wild shriek from Mrs Foster.

Mrs Laker, still standing with uplifted arms in the middle of the bedroom, and livid with terror, glared round in search of a place of refuge, and gasped horribly. Her eye fell on the bed from which her mistress had issued. With a spring that would have done her credit in the days of her girlhood, she plunged into it, head first, and rolled herself tight up in the clothes, where she lay, quaking and listening intently.

"It's only a cut on the head, and a little blood, ma'am, don't be alarmed," said the gruff voice of Bluenose, as the footsteps ascended the stair, and approached the bedroom.

"Cut" and "blood" were the only words in this speech which made any impression on poor Mrs Laker, who trembled so violently that the curtains around her shook again.

"Lay him in my bed," said Mrs Foster, in an agitated voice.

"W'y, the bed's all alive--O!" exclaimed Bluenose, in surprise.

"O Laker! what _are_ you doing there? get out, quick."

"Mercy, good men, mercy; I--"

The sentence was cut short by a wild yell, as her eye fell on the pale and b.l.o.o.d.y face of Guy. She tumbled, clothes and all, over the side of the bed in a dead faint, and rolled, in a confused white heap, to the very feet of her astounded brother, Captain Bluenose.

"Well, if this don't beat Trafalgar all to sticks!" exclaimed the Captain.

"Come, attend to Guy," said Bax, in a deep, commanding voice.

He lifted up Mrs Laker and the bed-clothes as if she had been a large washing, and carried her down to her own apartment,--guided by Tommy Bogey, who knew the way,--where he placed her in bed, and left her to recover as she best might.

Bax had taken the precaution to despatch a messenger for a doctor before they left the beach, so that Guy's hurt was soon examined, dressed, and p.r.o.nounced to be a mere trifle which rest would heal in a few days.

Indeed, Guy recovered consciousness soon after being brought into the cottage, and told his mother with his own lips that he was "quite well."

This, and the doctor's a.s.surances, so relieved the good lady, that she at once transferred much of her anxious care to the others who had been wrecked along with her son.

Lucy was placed in the hands of the sympathetic Amy Russell, and conducted by her to her own room, where she obtained dry clothing. As for the others, they dried themselves by the kitchen fire, which was stirred up vigorously by the now restored and repentant Laker, who also busied herself in spreading a repast for the shipwrecked men. Mrs Foster did the same for a select few, whom she meant to entertain in the parlour.

"Who is that handsome sailor," said Amy, as she a.s.sisted Lucy Burton to dress, "the one, I mean, who came up with Guy?"

"There were four who came up with Guy," replied Lucy, smiling.

"True," said Amy, blushing (she blushed easily), "but I mean the very tall, dark man, with the black curling hair."

"Ah! you mean the man who carried good Mrs Laker downstairs in a bundle," said Lucy, with a merry laugh.

"Yes," cried Amy, echoing the laugh, "who is he?"

"Why, you ought to know him," said Lucy, with a look of surprise, "he resides near you; at least he was one of the boatmen of your own coast, before he became captain of the `Nancy'. His name is Bax."

"Bax!" echoed Amy. "Is _he_ Bax? Oh, I know Bax well by name. He is a friend of Guy, and a celebrated man on this coast. He is sometimes called the Stormy Petrel, because he is always sure to be found on the beach in the wildest gales; sometimes he is called the Life Preserver, on account of the many lives he has saved. Strange," said Amy musingly, "that I should have pictured him to myself so like what he turns out to be. He is my _beau-ideal_ of a hero!"

"He _is_ a hero," said Lucy, with such sudden enthusiasm that her new friend looked up in her face in surprise. "You do not know," continued Lucy, in some confusion, "that he saved my life not much more than twenty-four hours ago."

Amy expressed deep interest in this matter, and begged to hear all about it. Lucy, nothing loath, related the event circ.u.mstantially; and Amy, gazing earnestly in her beautiful animated countenance, sighed and regarded her with an expression of sad interest,--also with feelings which she herself could not understand.

"But how comes it that you have never seen Bax till to-night?" inquired Lucy, when she had finished her narrative.

"Because I have not been very long here," said Amy, "and Bax had ceased to dwell regularly on the coast about the time I was saved, and came to live with Mrs Foster."

"Saved!--Mrs Foster!" exclaimed Lucy.

"Yes, Mrs Foster is not my mother."