THE LEAP FOR LIFE.
All this time the eye of Captain Cole was scanning the coast before
them, and he was coolly weighing the chances it offered for an escape
for him and his companions.
He noticed that the high, precipitous bluffs, as we have already
mentioned, directly opposite them, sat back some distance from the
shore. Were it otherwise, not the slightest hope would remain for the
most daring swimmer that ever cleft the wave.
Not a living soul was to be seen upon these bluffs. He knew that further
inland were marauding Indians, who, if they knew of the booty that was
thus offered, would swarm along the shore in myriads, eager and
impatient for the sea to cast the prey into their hands.
If they should appear, one would have little to choose between going
down in the sea at rest, or in being washed ashore in the full
possession of life and strength.
Harry had withdrawn his attention for the moment from the other vessel,
when he felt the captain touch his leg, and, as he looked down at him to
see what it meant, he pointed to the wreck.
One glance showed that it was breaking up. Large fragments could be seen
tossed aloft by the waves, and to several of them, men were clinging.
Only two remained upon the prow and they were Little Rifle and her
father. The other had also plunged into the boiling sea, in his
desperate struggle for life.
“Why do they wait?” was the question that came involuntarily to the lips
of the terrified lad; “they may as well take the leap first as last.”
He had considerable hope of their escaping. He knew that Little Rifle
was a perfect swimmer, and he had heard old Ruff Robsart tell of some of
her wonderful exploits in water. It was to be supposed, of course, that
her father was also an expert.
Instead of watching those upon the wreck, Captain Cole was carefully
observing those who were in the water; for the probability was that
whatever fate befell them would befall those who came after. If they
escaped, so might he; if they failed, the probabilities were that he
would.
He saw them carried swiftly southward, all passing close to his own
boat, and one poor fellow was swept under the bow, bruised and drowned;
but the three others, clinging to the fragments cleared the second
wreck, and by a curious action of the eddying current, were whirled in
so close to shore, that by tremendous and powerful swimming all three
reached land and were seen to wade up the beach, dripping with brine,
and scarcely able to stand.
This was encouraging, for the captain would not acknowledge that his
superior in swimming had yet been born. It was characteristic of the
man, that disclaiming all assistance in the shape of life-preservers or
pieces of the wreck, he should fling himself boldly into the ocean and
begin the struggle single-handed.
The eyes of Harry Northend were naturally fixed upon him, and he watched
his movements with an intensity of interest that can scarcely be
imagined. He observed that as he drifted southward, he aimed directly
for the shore, swimming with a steady and powerful stroke. He made no
attempt to prevent the foam of the breakers from going over his head;
for the simple reason that he knew no mortal man can support himself in
spray and foam. All that he can do, is to hold his breath, and wait for
a chance to get another mouthful of air.
This the sailor did, surely and steadily approaching the shore, until as
tossed high upon the crest of a mighty wave, he made land, and clinging
to the sand, scrambled up out of the baffled waves.
Harry’s eyes were upon the brave captain, and his heart gave a throb of
pleasure as he saw that one at least had escaped, when something dark
caught his eye in the water, and he saw that Little Rifle was in the
water, clinging to a fragment of the wreck, and using might and main to
reach the shore.
One glance at where the other wreck had been, showed that it was gone.
The sea was sweeping over the spot, and the only part that remained
visible was that to which the two were holding fast, and this was
spinning resistlessly in the current.
Harry would have saluted them by way of encouragement, as they passed,
but they were too much engaged with their own work to glance right or
left.
The lad wondered why it was that Little Rifle persisted in clinging to
the plank, when her ability in swimming would enable her to make much
better progress toward the shore; but, as he watched the movements of
the two, he rightly suspected that she did this to assist her father,
who was not her equal in swimming, and who was afraid to trust himself
alone in the waves.
The progress upon a raft is necessarily much slower than that of simply
relying upon one’s muscular power and skill in the water; and so, with a
terrible misgiving, he saw the two sweep on down the coast, without, so
far as he was able to judge, coming any nearer.
It was plain that the exertions of the noble-hearted girl were intended
mainly to benefit her parent. If she should fling herself loose from the
float, and strike out for the shore, she could reach it as certainly as
did Captain Cole, and the seamen of her own vessel.
As if to convince her of the truth of this, the sailors who had been
lashed in the rigging of the Albatross, were now struggling in the water
and steadily making their way to shore.
But certain death itself would not have dissuaded her from the attempt.
With all her bravery and remarkable skill, she worked the craft toward
the land, determined that if saved or lost, it should be in the company
of her parent.
Harry felt that the time had come for him to make the “leap for life”;
for he was the only one left, and the wreck itself gave signs of
breaking up; but before doing so, he was anxious to see what became of
Little Rifle; for if she escaped, he would be nerved to make greater
exertions for his own safety.
Harry took a look at the father and daughter, but it was not a very
satisfactory one, and convinced that it would not do for him to remain
longer, he came carefully down the ladder, so as to leap into the sea in
such a way as to run no danger of being swept under or against the hull.
He was nearly to the bottom, when there was a fearful swaying, and he
saw that the wreck was turning upon its side.
Not a moment was to be lost, and with a prayer upon his lip, he leaped
as far out in the boiling waves as was possible, and like Captain Cole,
struck straight for shore, with all the strength at his command,
dreading each moment to receive a crushing blow from the mast or one of
the spars.
He escaped this, but he found it almost impossible to prevent himself
from strangling, as he seemed to be under water nearly all the time.
But he struggled bravely as long as power remained. He could see the
black rocks gleaming wet and cheerless near him; dim figures of men upon
the beach—something like a shout—then all was blackness of darkness—and
he knew nothing.
Was this death?