He had never been afraid of water, as such. And the familiar scenery,
together with the wholesome exercise of sculling, acted as a tonic to
his nerves. They pulled above Molesey lock. When they were returning, Stranack said:

"You'll take her through the lock, won't you?" It was a needless remark, and if Stranack had not made it all might have
been well. As a fact, it set Cargill asking himself why he should not
take her through the lock. He was admitted to be a much better boatman
than Stranack, and everyone knew that it required a certain amount of
skill to manage a lock properly. Locks were dangerous if you played the
fool. Before now people had been drowned in locks. The rest was inevitable. He lost his head as the lower gates swung open,
and broke the rule of the river by pushing out in front of a launch. The
launch was already under way, and young Cargill trying to avoid it
better, thrust with his boat-hook at the side of the lock. The thrust
was nervous and ill-calculated, and the next instant the skiff had
blundered under the bows of the launch. It happened very quickly. The skiff was forced, broadside on, against
the lock gates, and was splintered like firewood. Cargill fell
backwards, struck his head heavily against the gates--and sank. He returned to consciousness in the lock-keeper's lodge. He had been
under water a dangerously long time before Stranack, who had suffered no
more than a wetting, had found him. It had been touch and go for his
life, but artificial respiration had succeeded. He soon went to pieces after that. From one of the windows of his chambers the river was just visible. One
morning he deliberately pulled the blind down. The action was important. It signified that he had definitely given up pretending that he had the
power of shaking off the obsession. But if he could not shake it off, he could at least keep it temporarily
at bay. He started a guerilla campaign against the obsession with the
aid of the brandy bottle. He was rarely drunk, and as rarely sober. He was sober the day he was compelled to call on an aunt who lived in
the still prosperous outskirts of Paddington. It was one of his good
days and, in spite of his sobriety, he had himself in very good control
when he left his aunt. In his search for a cab it became necessary for him to cross the canal. On the bridge he paused and, gripping the parapet, made a surprise
attack upon his enemy. Some children, playing on the tow path, helped him considerably. Their
delightful sanity in the presence of the water was worth more to him
than the brandy. He was positively winning the battle, when one of the
children fell into the water. For an instant he hesitated. Then, as on the night of the Tube episode,
panic seized him. The next instant the man who was probably the best
amateur swimmer in England, was running with all his might away from the
canal. When he reached his chambers he waited, with the assistance of the
brandy, until his man brought him the last edition of the evening paper. A tiny paragraph on the back sheet told him of the tragedy. An hour later his man found him face downwards on the hearthrug and,
wrongly attributing his condition wholly to the brandy, put him to bed. He was in bed about three weeks. The doctor, who was also a personal
friend, was shrewd enough to suspect that the brandy was the effect,
rather than the cause of the nerve trouble. About the first week in June Cargill was allowed to get up. "You've got to go away," said the doctor one morning. "You are probably
aware that your nerves have gone to pieces. The sea is the place for
you!" The gasp that followed was scarcely audible, and the doctor missed it. "You went to Tryn yr Wylfa about this time last year," continued the
doctor. "Go there again! Go for long walks on the mountains, and put up
at a temperance hotel." He went to Tryn yr Wylfa. The train journey of six hours knocked him up for another week. By the
time he was strong enough for the promenade it was the fourteenth of
June. He noticed the date on the hotel calendar, and realised that the
Fates had another ten days in which to drown him. He did not call on the Lardners. He felt that he couldn't--after the
canal episode. Four of the ten days had passed before Betty Lardner ran
across him on the promenade. She noticed at once the change in him, and was kinder than she had ever
been before. "Next Saturday," he said, "is the anniversary!" For answer she smiled at him, and he might have smiled back if he had
not remembered the canal. She met him each morning after that, so that she was with him on the day
when he made his atonement. There had been a violent storm in the early morning. It had driven one
of the quarry steamers on to the long sand-bank that lies submerged
between Tryn yr Wylfa and Puffin Island. The gale still lasted, and the
steamer was in momentary danger of becoming a complete wreck. There is no lifeboat service at Tryn yr Wylfa. It was impossible to
launch an ordinary boat in such a sea. Colonel Denbigh, the owner of the quarry and local magnate, who had been
superintending what feeble efforts had been made to effect a rescue,
answered gloomily when Betty Lardner asked him if there were any hope. "It's a terrible thing," he jerked. "First time there has been a wreck
hereabouts. It's hopeless trying to launch a boat----"

"Suppose a fellow were to swim out to the wreck with a life-line in
tow?" It was young Cargill who spoke. The Colonel glared at him contemptuously. "He would need to be a pretty fine swimmer," he returned. "I don't want to blow my own trumpet, but I am considered to be one of
the best amateur swimmers in the country," replied Cargill calmly. "If
you will tell your men to get the line ready, I will borrow a bathing
suit from somewhere." They both stared at him in amazement. "But you are still an invalid," cried Betty Lardner. "You----"

She stopped short and regarded him with fresh wonder. Somehow he no
longer looked an invalid. Mechanically she walked by his side to the little bathing office. Suddenly she clutched his arm. "Jack," she said, "have you forgotten the--the legend?" "Betty," he replied, "have you forgotten the crew?" While he was undressing the attendant asked him some trivial question. He did not hear the man. His thoughts were far away. He was thinking of
a group of children playing on the bank of a canal. To the accompaniment of the Colonel's protests they fixed a belt on him,
to which was attached the life-line. He walked along the sloping wooden projection that is used as a landing
stage for pleasure skiffs, walked until the water splashed over him. Then he dived into the boiling surf. Thus it was that he earned Betty Lardner's forgiveness. VII

THE LAST ASCENT


The extraordinary rapidity with which a successful airman may achieve
fame was well shown in the case of my friend, Radcliffe Thorpe.