‘The little one is safe,’ said Wal. ‘It was easy enough to take her up, but it will be more difficult with you, and I shall want you to help me all you can.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ said Edgar, ‘but I feel very weak. What an awful night it was!’ And he shuddered3 as he spoke4.
‘You’ll be able to tell me about it later on,’ said Wal Jessop. ‘Try and walk a bit; put your arm round my neck, and lean on me heavily.’
Edgar managed to stand on his feet, but he felt so weak he almost fell down again. However, he succeeded in dragging along, with Wal Jessop’s assistance, as far as the dangling5 rope. Edgar saw how long it was, and said:
‘Will it bear us both? You ought not to run any risk.’
It’s strong enough to hold an elephant,’ said Wal; ‘and there’s plenty of good sturdy fellows on top to haul us up.’
Without further delay he proceeded to make preparations for the ascent6. He tied the rope firmly under Edgar’s arms, then made a loop lower down in which he could fix his feet. When Wal had put his feet in the loop, Edgar put his feet on the top of Wal Jessop’s, and, facing each other, they were ready to be hauled up. Wal Jessop also had his arms round Edgar, in case the rope was not sufficient support for him.
‘Do you feel firmly fixed7?’ said Wal.
‘Yes,’ replied Edgar; ‘but it will be a stiffish pull for those on the top.’
‘Never you fear!’ said Wal. ‘They’ll manage it. It’s what they have been at all their lives, hauling in ropes either on board or ashore8.’
He gave the signal, and they commenced slowly to ascend9.
It was with a hearty cheer the men hauled them out of danger, and when Wal Jessop and Edgar stood on the top of the rock the good fellows capered10 with delight like so many schoolboys. They surrounded Edgar, and were so boisterous11 in their expressions of goodwill12 towards him, that Wal Jessop felt he ought to interpose, or else the excitement would be too much for the lad.
‘Hold hard, boys!’ he shouted, forcing them back. ‘This is my prize, and I’m going to carry him off home. A rest will do him good, and we shall hear all about his escape later on.’
‘What ship was it?’ asked one of the men.
‘The Distant Shore,’ said Edgar sadly.
‘And the skipper?’
‘Lost—all lost, I am afraid, but myself and the little one,’ said Edgar.
Good-natured Wal Jessop, wishing to prevent more painful questions, hurried Edgar Foster away from the scene as quickly as he could walk.
‘Where are we going to?’ asked Edgar.
‘My cottage,’ said Wal. ‘The wife has taken the young one, and has probably put her in bed ere this.’
‘You are very kind to us,’ said Edgar.
‘I shouldn’t be much of a man if I didn’t do all I could for you,’ said Wal. ‘I’ll bet you’d have done as much for me.’
‘I should have done my best,’ said Edgar.
‘I know it, lad, and therefore there is all the more pleasure in helping13 you. Mind the path here, it’s a bit rough and steep,’ said Wal.
When they reached Wal Jessop’s cottage, Edgar felt exhausted14, and sank helplessly into the easy-chair Mrs. Jessop placed ready for him. Tears stood in her eyes as she looked at Edgar’s youthful face, and thought of those who would mourn him as lost until they learned the truth.
‘Poor lad!’ she said in a whisper to Wal. ‘He’s worn out, and no wonder. You must get him into bed, and I’ll make something hot for him.’
‘He’ll be best there,’ said Wal. ‘Here goes!’
He lifted Edgar out of the chair, and carried him into a small bedroom. He helped him off with his clothes, such as they were, all ragged15 and torn, and wrapped him in the blankets. Mrs. Jessop brought him a bowl of beef-tea and bread, and after Edgar had done justice to it, he fell into a sound sleep.
‘Wonder who he is?’ said Mrs. Jessop. ‘He’s a fine lad.’
‘And a brave one,’ said Wal. ‘He’ll sleep a good many hours, I guess. I’ll go up to Sydney by the boat, and give what information I can about the wreck16. I’ll hurry back as quickly as possible. If he asks for me, tell him I shall not be long away. Where’s the child?’
Mrs. Jessop, with her finger on her lips to ensure silence, noiselessly opened their bedroom door.
Fast asleep in his own bed Wal Jessop saw the child he had rescued from a cruel death. How calm and peaceful she lay; not a thought of trouble haunted her as she slept! One tiny hand peeped out from the coverlet, and Wal Jessop could not resist covering it with his large hand. The little one returned the pressure, but did not awake.
‘I wish she belonged to us,’ he said to his wife.
‘So do I,’ was her reply. ‘Who knows but what she may do, if she has lost her father and mother?’
‘We shall find out all about them when I return,’ he said. ‘Rest is what they want now, poor things. I’ll bring some clothes back for him. You can get the little one some when you go out. It will be a bit of fresh shopping for you,’ he added with a smile that brought the colour into his wife’s cheeks.
When Wal Jessop reached Sydney, he found everyone in a state of excitement about the wreck, so many different accounts having been given by irresponsible persons. But he did not stay to gratify mere17 idle curiosity. He went direct to the offices of the Marine18 Board, and gave all the evidence he could about the wreck of the Distant Shore. His story was listened to with rapt attention, for Wal Jessop was a man who could be depended upon in all he did or said.
At the conclusion of his story, Captain Fife, President of the Board, complimented him upon his bravery, and asked him to bring the youth he had rescued to the offices of the Board as soon as he was in a proper state to give his version of the disaster.
‘By the way, what sort of a lad is he, Jessop?’ asked Captain Fife.
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CHAPTER VII. WHAT THE MORNING BROUGHT FORTH.
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CHAPTER IX. UP COUNTRY.
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