CHAPTER II
AT THE BELL ROCK
A mile or more away from where Beatrice stood and saw visions, and
further up the coast-line, a second group of rocks, known from their
colour as the Red Rocks, or sometimes, for another reason, as the Bell
Rocks, juts out between half and three-quarters of a mile into the
waters of the Welsh Bay that lies behind Rumball Point. At low tide
these rocks are bare, so that a man may walk or wade to their
extremity, but when the flood is full only one or two of the very
largest can from time to time be seen projecting their weed-wreathed
heads through the wash of the shore-bound waves. In certain sets of
the wind and tide this is a terrible and most dangerous spot in rough
weather, as more than one vessel have learnt to their cost. So long
ago as 1780 a three-decker man-of-war went ashore there in a furious
winter gale, and, with one exception, every living soul on board of
her, to the number of seven hundred, was drowned. The one exception
was a man in irons, who came safely and serenely ashore seated upon a
piece of wreckage. Nobody ever knew how the shipwreck happened, least
of all the survivor in irons, but the tradition of the terror of the
scene yet lives in the district, and the spot where the bones of the
drowned men still peep grimly through the sand is not unnaturally
supposed to be haunted. Ever since this catastrophe a large bell (it
was originally the bell of the ill-fated vessel itself, and still
bears her name, "H.M.S. Thunder," stamped upon its metal) has been
fixed upon the highest rock, and in times of storm and at high tide
sends its solemn note of warning booming across the deep.
But the bell was quiet now, and just beneath it, in the shadow of the
rock whereon it was placed, a man half hidden in seaweed, with which
he appeared to have purposely covered himself, was seated upon a piece
of wreck. In appearance he was a very fine man, big-shouldered and
broad limbed, and his age might have been thirty-five or a little
more. Of his frame, however, what between the mist and the
unpleasantly damp seaweed with which he was wreathed, not much was to
be seen. But such light as there was fell upon his face as he peered
eagerly over and round the rock, and glinted down the barrels of the
double ten-bore gun which he held across his knee. It was a striking
countenance, with its brownish eyes, dark peaked beard and strong
features, very powerful and very able. And yet there was a certain
softness in the face, which hovered round the region of the mouth like
light at the edge of a dark cloud, hinting at gentle sunshine. But
little of this was visible now. Geoffrey Bingham, barrister-at-law of
the Inner Temple, M.A., was engaged with a very serious occupation. He
was trying to shoot curlew as they passed over his hiding-place on
their way to the mud banks where they feed further along the coast.
Now if there is a thing in the world which calls for the exercise of
man's every faculty it is curlew shooting in a mist. Perhaps he may
wait for an hour or even two hours and see nothing, not even an
oyster-catcher. Then at last from miles away comes the faint wild call
of curlew on the wing. He strains his eyes, the call comes nearer, but
nothing can he see. At last, seventy yards or more to the right, he
catches sight of the flicker of beating wings, and, like a flash, they
are gone. Again a call--the curlew are flighting. He looks and looks,
in his excitement struggling to his feet and raising his head
incautiously far above the sheltering rock. There they come, a great
flock of thirty or more, bearing straight down on him, a hundred yards
off--eighty--sixty--now. Up goes the gun, but alas and alas! they
catch a glimpse of the light glinting on the barrels, and perhaps of
the head behind them, and in another second they have broken and
scattered this way and that way, twisting off like a wisp of gigantic
snipe, to vanish with melancholy cries into the depth of mist.
This is bad, but the ardent sportsman sits down with a groan and
waits, listening to the soft lap of the tide. And then at last virtue
is rewarded. First of all two wild duck come over, cleaving the air
like arrows. The mallard is missed, but the left barrel reaches the
duck, and down it comes with a full and satisfying thud. Hardly have
the cartridges been replaced when the wild cry of the curlew is once
more heard--quite close this time. There they are, looming large
against the fog. Bang! down goes the first and lies flapping among the
rocks. Like a flash the second is away to the left. Bang! after him,
and caught him too! Hark to the splash as he falls into the deep water
fifty yards away. And then the mist closes in so densely that shooting
is done with for the day. Well, that right and left has been worth
three hours' wait in the wet seaweed and the violent cold that may
follow--that is, to any man who has a soul for true sport.
Just such an experience as this had befallen Geoffrey Bingham. He had
bagged his wild duck and his brace of curlew--that is, he had bagged
one of them, for the other was floating in the sea--when a sudden
increase in the density of the mist put a stop to further operations.
He shook the wet seaweed off his rough clothes, and, having lit a
short briar pipe, set to work to hunt for the duck and the first
curfew. He found them easily enough, and then, walking to the edge of
the rocks, up the sides of which the tide was gradually creeping,
peered into the mist to see if he could find the other. Presently the
fog lifted a little, and he discovered the bird floating on the oily
water about fifty yards away. A little to the left the rocks ran out
in a peak, and he knew from experience that the tide setting towards
the shore would carry the curlew past this peak. So he went to its
extremity, sat down upon a big stone and waited. All this while the
tide was rising fast, though, intent as he was upon bringing the
curlew to bag, he did not pay much heed to it, forgetting that it was
cutting him off from the land. At last, after more than half-an-hour
of waiting, he caught sight of the curlew again, but, as bad luck
would have it, it was still twenty yards or more from him and in deep
water. He was determined, however, to get the bird if he could, for
Geoffrey hated leaving his game, so he pulled up his trousers and set
to work to wade towards it. For the first few steps all went well, but
the fourth or fifth landed him in a hole that wet his right leg nearly
up to the thigh and gave his ankle a severe twist. Reflecting that it
would be very awkward if he sprained his ankle in such a lonely place,
he beat a retreat, and bethought him, unless the curlew was to become
food for the dog-fish, that he had better strip bodily and swim for
it. This--for Geoffrey was a man of determined mind--he decided to do,
and had already taken off his coat and waistcoat to that end, when
suddenly some sort of a boat--he judged it to be a canoe from the
slightness of its shape--loomed up in the mist before him. An idea
struck him: the canoe or its occupant, if anybody could be insane
enough to come out canoeing in such water, might fetch the curlew and
save him a swim.
"Hi!" he shouted in stentorian tones. "Hullo there!"
"Yes," answered a woman's gentle voice across the waters.
"Oh," he replied, struggling to get into his waistcoat again, for the
voice told him that he was dealing with some befogged lady, "I'm sure
I beg your pardon, but would you do me a favour? There is a dead
curlew floating about, not ten yards from your boat. If you wouldn't
mind----"
A white hand was put forward, and the canoe glided on towards the
bird. Presently the hand plunged downwards into the misty waters and
the curlew was bagged. Then, while Geoffrey was still struggling with
his waistcoat, the canoe sped towards him like a dream boat, and in
another moment it was beneath his rock, and a sweet dim face was
looking up into his own.
Now let us go back a little (alas! that the privilege should be
peculiar to the recorder of things done), and see how it came about
that Beatrice Granger was present to retrieve Geoffrey Bingham's dead
curlew.
Immediately after the unpleasant idea recorded in the last, or, to be
more accurate, in the first chapter of this comedy, had impressed
itself upon Beatrice's mind, she came to the conclusion that she had
seen enough of the Dog Rocks for one afternoon. Thereon, like a
sensible person, she set herself to quit them in the same way that she
had reached them, namely by means of a canoe. She got into her canoe
safely enough, and paddled a little way out to sea, with a view of
returning to the place whence she came. But the further she went out,
and it was necessary that she should go some way on account of the
rocks and the currents, the denser grew the fog. Sounds came through
it indeed, but she could not clearly distinguish whence they came,
till at last, well as she knew the coast, she grew confused as to
whither she was heading. In this dilemma, while she rested on her
paddle staring into the dense surrounding mist and keeping her grey
eyes as wide open as nature would allow, and that was very wide, she
heard the report of a gun behind her to the right. Arguing to herself
that some wild-fowler on the water must have fired it who would be
able to direct her, she turned the canoe round and paddled swiftly in
the direction whence the sound came. Presently she heard the gun
again; both barrels were fired, in there to the right, but some way
off. She paddled on vigorously, but now no more shots came to guide
her, therefore for a while her search was fruitless. At last, however,
she saw something looming through the mist ahead; it was the Red
Rocks, though she did not know it, and she drew near with caution till
Geoffrey's shout broke upon her ears.
She picked up the dead bird and paddled towards the dim figure who was
evidently wrestling with something, she could not see what.
"Here is the curlew, sir," she said.
"Oh, thank you," answered the figure on the rock. "I am infinitely
obliged to you. I was just going to swim for it, I can't bear losing
my game. It seems so cruel to shoot birds for nothing."
"I dare say that you will not make much use of it now that you have
got it," said the gentle voice in the canoe. "Curlew are not very good
eating."
"That is scarcely the point," replied the Crusoe on the rock. "The
point is to bring them home. /Après cela----/"
"The birdstuffer?" said the voice.
"No," answered Crusoe, "the cook----"
A laugh came back from the canoe--and then a question.
"Pray, Mr. Bingham, can you tell me where I am? I have quite lost my
reckoning in the mist."
He started. How did this mysterious young lady in a boat know his
name?
"You are at the Red Rocks; there is the bell, that grey thing, Miss--
Miss----"
"Beatrice Granger," she put in hastily. "My father is the clergyman of
Bryngelly. I saw you when you and Lady Honoria Bingham looked into the
school yesterday. I teach in the school." She did not tell him,
however, that his face had interested her so much that she had asked
his name.
Again he started. He had heard of this young lady. Somebody had told
him that she was the prettiest girl in Wales, and the cleverest, but
that her father was not a gentleman.
"Oh," he said, taking off his hat in the direction of the canoe.
"Isn't it a little risky, Miss Granger, for you to be canoeing alone
in this mist?"
"Yes," she answered frankly, "but I am used to it; I go out canoeing
in all possible weathers. It is my amusement, and after all the risk
does not matter much," she added, more to herself than to him.
While he was wondering what she meant by that dark saying, she went on
quickly:
"Do you know, Mr. Bingham, I think that you are in more danger than I
am. It must be getting near seven o'clock, and the tide is high at a
quarter to eight. Unless I am mistaken there is by now nearly half a
mile of deep water between you and the shore."
"My word!" he said. "I forgot all about the tide. What between the
shooting and looking for that curlew, and the mist, it never occurred
to me that it was getting late. I suppose I must swim for it, that is
all."
"No, no," she answered earnestly, "it is very dangerous swimming here;
the place is full of sharp rocks, and there is a tremendous current."
"Well, then, what is to be done? Will your canoe carry two? If so,
perhaps you would kindly put me ashore?"
"Yes," she said, "it is a double canoe. But I dare not take you ashore
here; there are too many rocks, and it is impossible to see the ripple
on them in this mist. We should sink the canoe. No, you must get in
and I must paddle you home to Bryngelly, that's all. Now that I know
where I am I think that I can find the way."
"Really," he said, "you are very good."
"Not at all," she answered, "you see I must go myself anyhow, so I
shall be glad of your help. It is nearly five miles by water, you
know, and not a pleasant night."
There was truth in this. Geoffrey was perfectly prepared to risk a
swim to the shore on his own account, but he did not at all like the
idea of leaving this young lady to find her own way back to Bryngelly
through the mist and gathering darkness, and in that frail canoe. He
would not have liked it if she had been a man, for he knew that there
was great risk in such a voyage. So after making one more fruitless
suggestion that they should try and reach the shore, taking the chance
of rocks, sunken or otherwise, and then walk home, to which Beatrice
would not consent, he accepted her offer.
"At the least you will allow me to paddle," he said, as she skilfully
brought the canoe right under his rock, which the tide was now high
enough to allow her to do.
"If you like," she answered doubtfully. "My hands are a little sore,
and, of course," with a glance at his broad shoulders, "you are much
stronger. But if you are not used to it I dare say that I should get
on as well as you."
"Nonsense," he said sharply. "I will not allow you to paddle me for
five miles."
She yielded without another word, and very gingerly shifted her seat
so that her back was towards the bow of the canoe, leaving him to
occupy the paddling place opposite to her.
Then he handed her his gun, which, together with the dead birds, she
carefully stowed in the bottom of the frail craft. Next, with great
caution, he slid down the rock till his feet rested in the canoe.
"Be careful or you will upset us," she said, leaning forward and
stretching out her hand for him to support himself by.
Then it was, as he took it, that he for the first time really saw her
face, with the mist drops hanging to the bent eyelashes, and knew how
beautiful it was.
