In Kedars Tents | Page 8

cast a line which seemed to promise well at first. Two coils of it
unfolded themselves gracefully against the grey sky, and then
Confusion took the others for herself. A British oath from the deck of
the ship went out to meet a fine French explosion of profanity from the
boat, both forestalling the splash of the tangled rope into the water
under the bows of the ship, and a full ten yards out of the reach of the
man who stood, boathook in hand, ready to catch it. There were two
ladies in the stern of the boat, muffled up to the eyes, and betokening
by their attitude the hopeless despair and misery which seize the
southern fair the moment they embark in so much as a ferry boat. The
fore part of the heavy craft was piled up with trunks and other
impedimenta of a feminine incongruity. A single boatman had rowed
the boat from the shore, guiding it into mid-stream, and there
describing a circle calculated to insure a gentle approach on the lee side.

This man, having laid aside his oars, now stood, boathook in hand,
awaiting the inevitable crash. The offending boy in the bows was
making frantic efforts to haul in his misguided rope, but the possibility
of making a second cast was unworthy of consideration. The mate
muttered such a string of foreboding expletives as augured ill for the
delinquent. The boatman was preparing to hold on and fend off at the
same moment--a sudden gust of wind gave the boat a sharp buffet just
as the man grappled the mizzen-chains--he overbalanced himself, fell,
and recovered himself, but only to be jerked backwards into the water
by the boathook, which struck him in the chest.
'A moi!' cried the man, and disappeared in the muddy water. He rose to
the surface under the ship's quarter, and the mate, quick as lightning,
dumped the whole coil of the slack of the main sheet on to the top of
him. In a moment he was at the level of the rail, the mate and the
steward hauling steadily on the rope, to which he clung with the
tenacity and somewhat the attitude of a monkey. At the same instant a
splash made the rescuers turn in time to see Conyngham, whose coat
lay thrown on the deck behind them, rise to the surface ten yards astern
of the 'Granville' and strike out towards the boat, now almost
disappearing in the gloom of night.
The water, which had flowed through the sunniest of the sunny plains
of France, was surprisingly warm, and Conyngham, soon recovering
from the shock of his dive, settled into a quick side-stroke. The boat
was close in front of him, and in the semi-darkness he could see one of
the women rise from her seat and make her way forward, while her
companion crouched lower and gave voice to her dismay in a series of
wails and groans. The more intrepid lady was engaged in lifting one of
the heavy oars, when Conyngham called out in French:
'Courage, mesdames! I will be with you in a moment.'
Both turned, and the pallor of their faces shone whitely through the
gloom. Neither spoke, and in a few strokes Conyngham came alongside.
He clutched the gunwale with his right hand, and drew himself breast
high.

'If these ladies,' he said, 'will kindly go to the opposite side of the boat,
I shall be able to climb in without danger of upsetting.'
'If mama inclines that way I think it will be sufficient,' answered the
muffled form which had made its way forward. The voice was clear
and low, remarkably self-possessed, and not without a suggestion that
its possessor bore a grudge against some person present.
'Perhaps mademoiselle is right,' said Conyngham with becoming
gravity, and the lady in the stern obeyed her daughter's suggestion, with
the result anticipated. Indeed, the boat heeled over with so much
goodwill that Conyngham was lifted right out of the water. He
clambered on board and immediately began shivering, for the wind cut
like a knife.
The younger lady made her way cautiously back to the seat which she
had recently quitted, and began at once to speak very severely to her
mother. This stout and emotional person was swaying backwards and
forwards, and, in the intervals of wailing and groaning, called in
Spanish upon several selected saints to assist her. At times, and
apparently by way of a change, she appealed to yet higher powers to
receive her soul.
'My mother,' said the young lady to Conyngham, who had already got
the oars out, 'has the heart of a rabbit, but--yes--of a very young rabbit.'
'Madame may rest assured that there is no danger,' said Conyngham.
'Monsieur is an Englishman--'