DIEGO was an excellent swimmer, and his instinctive movement was to
keep himself afloat the instant he found himself in the water; but in
his heart there was nothing but despair and hopelessness.
During the few seconds that he had hung by the rail, he had seemed to
realize in a flash of thought the extreme peril of his case--that he
must fall into the dark waters, that the ship could never stop to try
to save him, and that he must lose there the life that had seemed, only
a few minutes before, so full of joy and promise.
Still, he battled with the waves, turning his back to the wind, so
that the dashing spray from the breaking crests would not smother him.
He cried out, his agony lending strength to his voice; but the wind
outshrieked him, and he knew that he had not been heard; though, even
then, it came as a sort of melancholy consolation that it would not
have mattered if he had been heard. But then it seemed to him that he
had heard an answering cry, and for a moment his heart leaped only to
sink again, and the futility of struggling urged itself on him.
Oh! it was quite certain to him that he must go down; but there is such
a love of life implanted in us all that it is almost impossible to give
up struggling; and so it was with him. The waves tossed him about, the
spray enveloped him so that he could scarcely breathe, his strength was
fast failing him, and still he fought for his life.
Then something touched him on the head, and the horrid thought that it
might be a shark roused him to a sudden spasmodic activity. He put his
hand out to push it away--and what it was he did not know; but it was
not a shark, and he clung to it with the madness and the strength of
hope.
He caught the floating thing with the other hand, and he was sustained.
New life came to him and he felt over the object to gain a securer
hold. He could not quite make out the extent or nature of it, but it
struck him, with a thrill, that it was like an overturned canoe. He
climbed as far on it as he could then, and rested there.
“--ego-o-o!”
Surely that gurgling, despairing cry sounded his name, or was his mind
affected by his agony? No, it came again, and it was close beside
him--only a rising wave between him and it. Juan! It was Juan’s voice!
“Juan, Juan!” he screamed, his heart filled at once with terror and
joy. “Juan, I am here, here!”
He peered through the gloom, watching the great wave sink into a
hollow. He listened with sharpened ears for a repetition of the cry.
The wave sank and was rushing away, with another sweeping in to take
its place, Diego riding on its side, buoyed up by the canoe. Something,
something--what was it?--gleamed on the black surface.
“Juan, Juan!” screamed Diego, and, at the risk of losing his hold on
the canoe, he reached out and clutched at the floating thing.
The wave rolled on, and broke over the speck of fighting humanity; then
dropped away, and there was an instant of calm. It was enough. Diego
had Juan in the grip of love and loneliness.
Juan had been on the point of giving up; but, as with Diego, so with
him; he was no sooner assured that succor was at hand than he revived.
He caught the side of the canoe--the canoe of those Indians had a sort
of flange running around it--and held there until he could climb on it
as Diego had done.
It was a precarious resting-place, tossing about on the waves, but it
was so much better than nothing that both boys felt, from the moment of
touching it, as if they should live to see another day. Neither of them
could find breath to say anything for a few minutes; but in a little
while Diego put his mouth close to Juan’s ear and said:
“The ship is gone.”
“Yes,” answered Juan; “but I think we are safe here. Can you hold on
long enough?”
“I think so. Did you jump after me?” The thought had suggested itself
to Diego at once on finding Juan in the water.
“Yes; I couldn’t help it.”
Diego said nothing for a few minutes. He was thinking how true a friend
Juan was; but a boy generally finds it hard to express gratitude for a
service such as Juan had wished to do him.
“I can’t fight you now, can I?” he said.
A strange thing to say, lying there on an inverted canoe, with the cold
touch of death almost on them; but Juan understood, and that was enough.
“Oh, we are quits,” he said. “I should have drowned if you had not
saved me.”
“You wouldn’t have been in danger if it hadn’t been for me,” said
Diego.
[Illustration: “HE REACHED OUT AND CLUTCHED AT THE FLOATING THING.”]
They both laughed at that, as if the absurdity of the argument had
struck them. It was afterwards, however, that they laughed most; for
their situation was too serious then for much mirth.
Fortunately, Martin Alonzo had prognosticated truly, and the storm
that had been raging for so long was subsiding. Even so, the night was
a long and a hard one, what with the fear of being carried ashore and
dashed to death on the rocks, and the danger of being washed off their
canoe as their strength decreased.
The wind shifted again, however, and ebb tide must have begun to run,
for, whenever the boys listened for the sound of breakers they seemed
far away; and finally the sound ceased altogether.
Morning broke at last, finding them quite exhausted and barely able
to cling to their support. As soon as it was light enough they lifted
their weary heads and looked around them. To the south of them they saw
the coast, perhaps five miles distant; but to the east, where the ship
should have been, they saw nothing but water.
Dawn is always the most dismal time for the miserable. Hope seems to
take that time for slumbering. The boys saw the worst of their case
then. They were deserted by their ship, they were five miles from
shore on an overturned canoe, and even if they reached the shore it
would be only to fall into the clutches of cruel cannibals.
“Gone!” was Diego’s only word, as he exchanged a hopeless glance with
Juan.
Juan shivered--it is always cool before dawn in those latitudes--and
cast one more glance around, and then let his head fall upon his arms.
Cold, hungry, hopeless! what could be more wretched?
But the sun grew warm little by little, and hope revived within the
hearts of the castaways. They felt grateful for the warmth, but were
too weary to lift their heads to speak; then, too, the sea was growing
so much smoother that it was hardly more than lazily swelling now, and
it seemed to lull them to sleep.
The sun was high and hot when they awoke; but it was not his beams that
waked them. Diego had relaxed his hold on the canoe and had rolled into
the water. He was frightened at first, but, seeing that he was quite
safe, he quickly caught the rim of the canoe and actually smiled. Juan
smiled back, having been awakened by the rocking of the canoe and the
splashing of the water.
Diego climbed up on the canoe, and, having taken a hasty glance around
again, turned to Juan, and said with a great deal of his old spirit:
“That sleep did me good. I feel better.”
“So do I,” said Juan, quite cheerfully.
“I’m desperately hungry,” said Diego. “Anything to eat in your pockets?”
He felt in his as he spoke, and Juan did likewise. Both shook their
heads together.
“Hawks’ bells and beads,” said Diego.
“That’s all I have,” said Juan; “but maybe the ship will come back for
us.”
“Sure to,” said Diego, hopefully. “I say, Juan, don’t you think we
might get this canoe turned over if we tried?”
Juan felt sure they could, and so they both slipped off into the water
and struggled with it as they had often seen the natives do; for the
canoes are not at all seaworthy affairs, and it seemed quite a matter
of course to a native to turn over in one; a thing that was of the
less consequence, since the Indian could swim like a fish and wore no
clothes to get wet.
The boys presently had the canoe right side up and had climbed
carefully into it. It needed bailing out, and they had but their hands
to do it with, so that it took some time and was imperfectly done then.
It permitted them to sit up comfortably, however, and only their feet
were in the water.
“I hope the cannibals won’t see us,” said Diego, glancing
apprehensively towards the shore.
“I don’t believe it would matter if they did from there,” answered
Juan. “Do you?”
“I don’t suppose it would. See! there are a great many coming down to
the beach out of the woods. I hope they are not coming out to fish. Do
you see any canoes?”
“No,” answered Juan, his heart rising up into his throat. And indeed it
was a frightful thing to contemplate.
The boys lowered their voices in speaking to each other after that,
and kept their eyes fixed anxiously on the natives moving about on the
shore. Their actions seemed very strange to the watching boys; though
they afterwards knew that their peculiar antics were due to catching
turtles and turning them on their backs.
By and by they went away, and the boys breathed more freely, though
still they were filled with anxiety. If they had had a paddle they
would undoubtedly have worked away from the coast.
“I wonder,” said Juan, after a while, “if we are far from where we went
overboard?”
Diego had already been wondering the same thing, and had been trying to
work it out.
“I’m afraid we are,” he answered. “I think, from the looks of things,
that that mountain to the east of us is where we nearly ran ashore.
That is ten leagues away, at least.”
“Then if the ship does come back,” said Juan, and stopped there,
dreading to say what was in his thoughts.
“Yes,” said Diego, who understood him, “if she comes back, she will go
there.”
“And will not go hunting around for us,” suggested Juan.
“Why should she?” said Diego, and they both fell into a silence.
“Diego,” said Juan presently, in a startled tone, “I think--”
“Well, what do you think?” demanded Diego, glancing around in alarm.
“I think the flood tide is taking us inshore,” answered Juan.
And so it was of a certainty. Diego did not turn pale; for he was
already that, but he showed in his eyes how he dreaded such a thing.
Then he put his hand on the sailor’s knife which was in its sheath by
his side, and said, with a half-sob:
“I will fight till I die.”
“And I,” said Juan. Then hope whispered courage, and he said quickly;
“but we may get ashore undiscovered, and be able to make our way to
the mountain yonder. Then, if the ship does come back--”
“It will. It certainly will,” said Diego, catching eagerly at the hope.
“We shall be there to meet her,” went on Juan. “Unless she should come
and go before we can get there.”
“Oh,” said Diego, his courage rising with the prospect of doing
something for himself, “if she comes back she will stay a day or two
days, surely. Why not? As well come ashore at that point as another.”
“Besides,” said Juan, “we shall get something to eat ashore, and I am
hungry.”
“That maize bread would taste good,” said Diego, “or potatoes.”
“Well,” said Juan, sighing, “perhaps these cannibals don’t eat such
things.”
“We can get fruit enough, anyhow,” said Diego, shuddering at the
thought of the food the people did eat.
They were being carried inshore very perceptibly, and after a little
while they crouched down in the canoe and allowed nothing but their
heads to be visible. They saw nobody for a long time, and later saw
only a few children, who returned to the woods after playing about for
a short time.
The current set in strongest towards a rocky promontory, and they were
rejoiced, indeed, when they saw themselves being carried thitherward;
for, as Diego said, it was very likely that the savages were very near
the shore, and only remained in the woods for the sake of the shade,
and would be certain to see them if they were to go ashore on the open
beach, whereas they could go ashore under the cliff that made the end
of the promontory, and remain there in safety until darkness came on,
if that should prove necessary.
The canoe approached the shore very slowly, and they were lying fully
concealed in it at the last, only venturing to peep over the side at
long intervals to see where they were. The lapping of the waves on the
shore was so soft that the boys could occasionally hear above it the
cries and shouts of children, warning them that their suspicions of the
whereabouts of the people had been correct.
“We shall be swept around the cape,” said Diego, after looking up once.
“How far off from land are we?” asked Juan, looking cautiously over the
side.
“A hundred yards, I should say,” answered Diego. “Do you not think so?”
“Yes. What shall we do then?”
“We don’t know what there is the other side of the cape,” said Diego,
in a whisper. “Would it not be best to swim ashore as soon as we find
ourselves off the cliff, rather than take our chances by going farther?”
It was one of those questions difficult to answer; but as it had to be
answered quickly, if at all, Juan took the view that Diego did, and
they decided to swim for the cape.
“I think I can do it,” said Diego. “Can you?”
Juan answered that he thought he could, and so they waited anxiously
for the moment to come, each thinking, but not saying, that the step
might be a fatal one, and each determined to resist capture at any
cost. They watched until the canoe had drifted past the point of rock
that jutted from the promontory. Then Diego rose with the intention of
plunging off, but sat down and whispered to Juan:
“We can’t be seen from the shore now. Let us paddle with our hands and
get nearer in if we can.”
So Juan rose up and saw that what Diego had said was quite true, and
they both immediately began paddling with their hands. And they soon
found that it was not an idle thing to do, and that the canoe was
getting at each moment nearer the rocky shore, until it was not more
than fifty yards away, when the boys agreed that it was time to swim.
So they dropped silently over the side, one after the other, and swam
with what strength they had for the shore. Fortunately, for they were
not in good vigor, the shore shelved off so gradually that when Diego
dropped his feet to rest himself, he discovered that he could touch
bottom. Whereupon he stood up and reached out his hand to Juan, who was
panting and making but a feeble stroke.
They rested there a moment, and then made their way ashore, trembling
at each step lest they should be discovered either by a passing canoe
or by the children in their play.
They reached the shore in safety, however, and would have sunk on the
first dry rock from sheer exhaustion had they dared. But fear kept them
moving, until they had gained a spot behind some jagged rocks close up
under the base of the cliff. There they both sank down, and it was a
long time before either moved or spoke. It was Diego who spoke first.
“I did not know how weak I was,” he said.
“Nor I,” answered Juan. “Must we lie here until dark? I seem to be
starving.”
“Do you lie here,” said Diego, “and I will steal to the edge of the
cape and see what there is beyond.”
“No,” said Juan, rising to his feet, “if there is a risk, let us take
it together. Besides, I feel stronger now. It must have been the sun, I
think. Come! let us go together. But keep close to the cliff.”
[Illustration: “THERE THEY BOTH SANK DOWN.”]