Percy agreed with all his heart. Jim had discovered that the tub was
becoming a bit shaky, so he reinforced the lanyard, and strengthened the
bottom by binding it with ground-line. Before long it was towing again
in front of the bow, as good as new.
Hours passed, but the intensity of the gale did not slacken. The sea was
frightfully rough. It kept the boys bailing continually.
Dawn broke at last. On the eastern horizon grew a pale light, against
which the ragged, savagely leaping crests were silhouetted weirdly. It
brightened to a crimson glow, and soon the sun was shooting its fiery
arrows across the heaving, glittering waste.
The forenoon wore slowly on as they drifted steadily south. The water
around the dory was alive with whirlpools. Gigantic green seas rushed
down as if to overwhelm her, but she flirted her bow aloft and rode them
stanchly.
Percy, glancing to starboard, saw a black fin cutting the slope of a
watery ridge.
"Shark, Jim?"
"Yes. And there's another to port. They're looking for trouble. They'll
stick by till we're out of this scrape or in a worse one."
He was right. The sun reached its zenith and began to descend, but still
the black fins wove their ceaseless circles round the boat.
Jim had been scanning the sea, hand over his eyes.
"There's a schooner," he remarked, without enthusiasm.
Percy was all excitement.
"Where? Where?"
"Up there, two miles to windward. Double reefed and clawing west. She'd
never see us in a thousand years, and if she did she couldn't do us any
good. Forget her!"
The schooner inched her way imperceptibly under the horizon. The boys
had eaten nothing for twenty-four hours; excitement had prevented them
from feeling hungry. Now they came to a realization that they had
stomachs, and they finished half the hard bread remaining in the bag.
"We'll save the rest," decided Jim. "May need it worse later than we do
now."
Percy could easily have eaten twice his share, but he recognized the
wisdom of Jim's decision. Both were very thirsty, but without a drop of
fresh water aboard there was nothing to do but wait.
At four o'clock came disaster. The drug suddenly let go!
Round whirled the dory, side to the seas. Jim grabbed the oar and jammed
it into the scull-hole, but before he could wet the blade a crumbling
roller almost swamped the boat. Out went everything that would float.
"Save that bucket, Perce!" shouted Spurring.
Percy clutched the handle just as the pail was going over the side. He
bailed, while Spurling brought the flooded craft stern to the seas.
"Take her now, Perce! Give me the bucket!"
Furiously he began scooping out the water. After a long, discouraging
fight the boat was bailed clear.
"We've got to run before it while I rig another drug," said Spurling.
"Keep her as she is."
In the stern stood a five-gallon can of gasolene, one of the few things
that had not been washed overboard when the dory filled. Making use of
the sadly diminished coil of ground-line, Jim fastened this can to the
end of the painter. Picking a smooth chance, he swung the bow up into
the wind again; and soon they were floating snugly behind their new
drug.
For another hour they drifted uneventfully. Out of a cloudless sky the
red sun dropped below the flying spindrift. A second night was coming,
and still the norther raged with undiminished violence.
It was growing dark and the stars were already out when a new sound fell
on Percy's ears.
"What's that?" he exclaimed.
Up from the south came a faint, long-drawn, mournful voice,
_Oo-oo-oo-ooh!_ They listened breathlessly. It sounded again,
_Oo-oo-oo-ooh!_
"Whistling buoy!" ejaculated Jim. He thought a moment. "Cashe's Ledge!"
he shouted. "Sixty miles south of Tarpaulin! That's drifting some since
yesterday afternoon. Must be less than a mile to leeward or we couldn't
hear it against this gale."
Nearer and nearer, louder and louder, sounded the melancholy note, just
west of south. Both boys strained their eyes.
"I see it!" cried Percy, triumphantly. "There--rising on that swell!
Almost astern! It's striped red and black!"
But Jim gave him no heed. Lips parted and face pale, he was gazing
intently at something farther off. Suddenly he lifted his hand.
"Listen! Do you hear that?"
Above the noise of the surrounding sea rose a low, savage roar. Percy
caught Jim's alarm.
"What is it?"
"The breaker on the shoal! Sometimes it combs up high as a house. It's
less than a quarter-mile southwest of the buoy, and we're drifting
straight down upon it! If we go over it, we'll be swamped, sure as fate,
drug or no drug! We'll simply be buried under tons and tons of water!"
Percy fought off his panic.
"What shall we do?" he stammered.
"Make the whistler--if we can. It's buoy or breaker, and mighty quick,
too!"
The dory's drift, if unchanged, would take her several yards west of the
steel can crowned with its red whistle-cage. Its warning blast set the
air vibrating, _Oo-oo-oo-ooh!_
Jim snatched out his knife and sprang forward.
"Oar in the scull-hole, Perce! Lively!"
Driving the point of his blade into the side of the bow, he dragged the
painter in until he reached the gasolene-can. Severing the rope with one
quick, strong slash, he scrambled aft and seized the oar.
"Stand by with that painter to jump for the buoy, when I put the bow
against it! Better take off your shoes first!"
Percy obeyed. In his stocking feet he would be less liable to slip on
the wet iron. Making a loose coil of the painter, he crouched in the
bow. Meanwhile Jim had turned the dory round and headed her north of the
whistler. A strong current was setting toward the shoal. It took all his
strength to scull against it.
Rapidly they neared the can. About eight feet in diameter at the
water-line, it tapered to two feet across its flat top, seven feet
above. From the circumference rose two iron bails, crossing each other
at right angles, several inches above the whistle, which stood two and
one-half feet high. A little to one side stuck up the small tube of the
intake valve. Round the buoy above the water-line were bolted four lugs,
or iron handles, by which the can could be hoisted on board the
lighthouse steamer.
As the steel cone sank the whistle bellowed resonantly. Down, down, till
the waves swept over its top. Then, slowly it began to rise. The
bellowing cut off, and the air rushed into the intake tube.
Percy watched it, fascinated. Jim's voice roused him to their peril.
"Look sharp! Be ready!"
Less than ten feet of wild black water lay between the madly leaping bow
and the buoy. Beyond it the shoal broke with an angry roar in a long
line of crumbling foam. Percy gathered his strength for the leap.
The distance lessened, foot by foot. Foot by foot the red-and-black cone
emerged, as if thrust up by a giant hand. Percy fastened his eyes on a
lug.
A grayback heaved the dory forward.
"Now!" screamed Jim.
Young Whittington sprang upon the bow thwart, painter end in his right
hand, and leaped for the lug. A second later the boat crashed against
the buoy.
His left hand caught the bent iron bar; his right missed it. His body
thudded against the riveted side, slid down, and he hung by one arm,
waist-deep in the water.