THE POOL OF DEATH
"Say, Frank, have you noticed that we are going to have a hard
paddle back against this current?"
The boys had been fishing about an hour when Harry spoke. So
engrossed had they both been pulling in fish of a dozen strange
varieties and brilliant hues that neither of the lads had noticed
that the canoe had drifted down stream far from the starting point
and that in fact when they looked up they were in an entirely
strange part of the river.
"You are right, Harry," rejoined Frank, as he looked up at the steep
banks on either side of them, "we have drifted a considerable
distance. Come on, out with the paddles and we'll be getting back."
But it was one thing to talk of getting back and quite another thing
to do it. The boys, after an hour of paddling, were dismayed to
find that although their arms ached with the exertion and they were
dripping with perspiration, they had made hardly any progress
against the current.
"It's too much for us," gasped Frank.
"What on earth are we going to do?" asked Harry with blanched
cheeks.
Frank glanced at the shore on either side. For a minute he had
entertained a thought of landing and walking back along the beach.
But there was no beach.
The river boiled along between narrow walls which shot sheer up from
the water. There was not even a niche in their smooth surface to
afford a foothold to a mountain goat. They were caught in a trap.
The only thing to do was to drift down the river and trust to luck
to find a landing-place. In their extremity they shouted at the top
of their voices to let their comrades know of their plight, but
their cries were unanswered and they began to wish that they had
saved their breath to use in the task of keeping the canoe steady in
the current.
While they had been pondering their situation, moreover, they had
been swept with almost incredible rapidity down the river. The
walls here grew narrower and narrower and the water fairly boiled in
its narrow confines. Its dark surface was flecked with white foam,
and to make matters worse, as the walls closed in the light became
fainter, till the boys were being carried downward through almost
subterranean darkness.
In the intense gloom their white strained faces shone out like
pallid beacon-lights.
"Hold her steady," said Frank in a tense voice as the canoe wobbled
crazily in the swollen current.
"I'm doing the best I can," gasped out poor Harry desperately plying
his paddle.
It the canoe was to get broadside onto the current, even for the
fraction of a second, Frank well knew that nothing could save them.
It was a terrible situation.
Helplessly they were being borne at dizzy speed to what seemed
almost certain death--for certain it was that they could not hold
out much longer. Already their overstrained muscles were only
mechanically doing their duty, but before long Frank realized that
even his-well-trained young body must collapse--and then, what?
Suddenly there was borne to their ears a sound that made both boys
chill with terror.
It was a mighty roaring like the furious boiling of some giant
kettle. A thousand shouting voices seemed blended into one to form
the music, of this ominous orchestra. Louder the noise grew and
louder, as the pass through which the river now tore like a runaway
race-horse grew narrower and blacker.
What could the awful uproar mean?
They had not long to wait before the truth burst upon them. They
were nearing, at what seemed express speed, a whirling, roaring mass
of waters that shouted at them like some animal calling for its
prey. The boys' cheeks blanched as they realized that nothing but a
miracle could save them from being sucked into this watery abyss.
Desperately they plied their paddles but if they had been useless
further up the stream they were doubly inefficient now. If they had
stroked against the rushing current with feathers they could not
have had less effect in checking the death rush of the canoe, which
was tossed along on the racing tide like a chip of wood.
Suddenly the canoe was struck a terrific blow.
Before either boy could realize what had happened they were both
struggling in the water. So dazed were they by the mishap that it
was several minutes before they understood that they were clinging
to the to the trunk of some huge tree. It was this trunk that had
wrecked the canoe and thrown them overboard.
In reality, though, they were little better off now than they had
been while the canoe was being whirled down the river. It looked as
if they had been saved from one death only to face a worse. With
all their might they clung side by side. Dripping wet, half-blinded
and bruised by the battering they got as the trunk smashed from side
to side of the narrow passage, the indomitable American pluck of the
two lads yet held good in this extremity.
"Is it good-by, Frank?" Harry found strength to murmur.
"While there's life there's hope," came Frank's brave reply in his
favorite axiom. "We'll live to fly the old Golden Eagle yet, let's
hope."
There was no time for further talk, even had the boys been in any
position to consider conversation. The trunk was rapidly nearing
the whirlpool--and death.
Small wonder that brave as the boys were a despairing cry burst from
their throats as they saw what seemed the end of their ride close
upon them. It was as if they could feel the breath of the Pale
Horseman already blowing chilly in their faces.
But suddenly a strange thing happened.
Both boys had closed their eyes and only moved their lips in prayer
as they saw that inevitably in a few minutes they must be sucked
into the maelstrom. Now, however, they opened them in amazement.
The swift rush of the log to which they clung like drowned rats had
stopped.
It took them only a few seconds to take in what had occurred. The
great log swinging one end toward the swirling current had jammed
clear across the stream and for a time at any rate they were saved
from immediate death. In their joy they clasped each other's hands
warmly but their first rush of relief did not last long. As a
matter of fact they were not any nearer safely than they had been a
few minutes previous.
The log, it was true, was jammed across the stream, but the
consequent backing up of the impetuous current caused it to rush
across the boys' refuge in such volumes as to almost sweep them from
their perches.
It was very evident that they could not hold put indefinitely in
this position.
Their attention was attracted as they clung to their water-swept
tree-trunk by a dark object whirling about in the boiling pool. It
was swept dizzily round and round in ever decreasing circles toward
the middle of the fatal vortex. Suddenly it shot downward out of
sight, but as it did so Frank had seen something that kindled one
ray of hope--though a feeble one. Before the canoe had taken the
fatal downward plunge it had hesitated for a minute as though caught
on something; and then the boy leader saw for the first time that in
the center of the pool there was a rock, although the water that
submerged it to the depth of an inch or so prevented its being seen
at first glance.
Frank turned to Harry and told him of his discovery.
"If we are cast into the pool let us make up our minds to get to
that rock. Keep your mind concentrated on it. Don't let the idea
leave you for a second and perhaps--I say 'perhaps'--we can make
it."
Harry shook his head despairingly.
"I can hardly keep my grip on this tree. I don't believe that I
could possibly manage to swim even a few yards," he groaned.
"You must," said Frank sharply. "Don't give in now, Harry. Stick
it out."
Then as a sudden thought struck him he continued.
"See here, it's no good our wasting our strength clinging to this
trunk any longer. Sooner or later we shall be swept off and the
longer we wait the less reserve strength we shall have. Let us
leave go now and swim for it."
Whatever reply Harry might have tendered to this desperate proposal
he was spared making, for at that moment a wave of more than
ordinary force--caused by the backed-up water striking the log--struck
him full in the face and before he knew it the boy had been washed
from the tree trunk and was being carried like a straw down the stream.
As Harry felt himself being carried along there was only one thought
in his mind. It was not of death. When death is right upon a man
or a boy he rarely thinks of it, but casts about for the best means
of saving himself. Nor does--as some imaginative writers have told
us--a man's whole past life come before him at such moments.
No--the instinct of self-preservation is strongest when a human
being is in the direst need, and so it was that in Harry's mind one
thought kept hammering away like the strokes of a tolling bell.
"Try-and-make-the-rock. Try-and-make-the-rock."
Frank's insistence had done this much. It had caused the boy to
recollect the one hope of salvation that the desperate situation
held out. As he was swept down the torrent Harry made no effort to
swim. It would have been worse than useless and besides he needed
to husband his strength for the final struggle he knew was upon him.
The next minute he felt a sickening swirling sensation and realized
that he was in the whirlpool's death-grip at last.
Faster and faster the boy was hurried in ever decreasing circles.
Dizzy, half-choked with water, blinded and almost exhausted Harry,
with the tenacity of a bull dog, still clung tenaciously to the one
idea:
"Try-and-make-the-rock. Try-and-make-the-rock."
Suddenly, he was flung against a hard substance. With outstretched
fingers he clutched at the slimy surface as of what he realized was
the end of his journey at last. The great stone was covered with
slimy weed, however, and his grasping fingers refused to clutch at
any friendly niche in its surface.
With a despairing cry the boy was being swept in to the terrible mouth
of the pool when he felt himself seized and pulled up out of the grip
of the torrent. He knew no more till he opened his eyes and found
Frank by his side. Both boys were on the rock--sitting on it in two
inches or more of water. Fortunately in that climate the water was
not so chilly as to cause discomfort, but this was about the only
crumb of satisfaction the situation held for them.
"Well done, old fellow," said Frank as Harry opened his eyes. "You
had a narrow escape, though."
Harry could only look at his brother gratefully. How deep was his
debt of gratitude to him both boys realized without their talking of
it.
"How did you gain the rock, Frank?" asked Harry.
"When I saw you swept off the tree trunk I slipped off too," replied
Frank, "and when I felt myself dragged into the pool I struck out
for the rock. I confess, though, I didn't have much hope of
reaching it till I was slammed into it with a blow that almost
cracked my ribs and knocked all the wind out of me. I managed
however to grab hold of a depression in the surface and maintain my
grip on it. I had hardly dragged myself up when you were hurled
against it. I thought I had lost you, for the water pulled like a
draught-horse, but I managed to hold on to you and here we are."
"And a worse position we could not possibly be in," added Harry.
"Unless we were in there," retorted Frank pointing, not without a
shudder, to the whirling open mouth of the pool which had sucked
down the wreck of their canoe.
"What is it do you suppose?" asked Harry wonderingly.
"The mouth of a subterranean river I guess," replied Frank. "I have
read of such things."
"But why didn't Desplaines warn us of our danger," said Harry
bitterly, "if we ever get out of this I shall tell him my opinion of
him pretty strongly. We might have been killed and we may yet."
"He did warn us," replied Frank calmly.
"He did?"
"Yes."
"I should like to know when?"
"When we shoved off."
"You mean when he shouted something we couldn't catch and pointed
down the river?"
"That's it."
"I thought he meant there was better fishing down, here," snapped
Harry indignantly, "what idiots we were."
"Yes; not to notice how we were drifting," rejoined Frank quietly,
"it's no use to blame Mr. Desplaines for this pickle. We have only
ourselves to be angry with. I don't suppose he ever thought that
two boys would not notice how they were drifting in a ten mile
current."
"The point is how are we ever going to get out of it?"
How indeed?
As the boys looked about they saw little to encourage them. The
chasm in which they were beleaguered was not more than fifteen feet
across, but on either side shot up walls of rock so steep and smooth
that not even a fern could find root on their polished surfaces.
Where the whirlpool sank into the bowels of the earth the walls came
together at an angle forming a sort of triangular prison. At the
top of this trap the boys could see a strip of blue sky and the
outlines of the graceful tops of some bulbous stemmed palms but
nothing else. Once a vulture sailed across the strip and sighting
the two boys came lower to investigate. The sight of the carrion
bird made both of the boys shudder.
"Ugh, he scents a meal, he thinks we're dead already," cried Harry
disgustedly.
The sound of his voice echoed gloomily among the rocks.
"We're dead already," came back in sepulchral tones.
"I shan't try to wake that echo up again," said Harry in a low tone
and shivering at the uncanny voice of the rock.
Neither of the boys spoke for a long time. They sat there silently,
occasionally standing up to get the stiffness out of their limbs
till the strip of sky above began to darken to gray.
"Well, here goes!" exclaimed Harry suddenly.
Frank glanced sharply up. He did not like the wild tone in which
the words were spoken.
"What is it?" he asked sharply.
"I'm tired of this, I'm going to swim for it," replied Harry with a
foolish, hysterical laugh.
Frank saw what had happened. The boy had become half-delirious
under the mental strain he had undergone.
"Sit down, old fellow," he said kindly, "help will come soon I am
sure."
"Yes, a steamboat will come sailing down the river and take us home
in the captain's cabin I suppose," said Harry foolishly.
But nevertheless Frank's stern command to "shut up" and not make a
foot of himself brought him to his senses and he said no more till
the stillness was broken by a sudden cry from above.
"Bosses--oh, bosses."
"Ahoy there; castaways!"
Frank looked up.
The cry of joy he gave set the echoes flying in the gloomy canyon.
It was the black face of Sikaso that was gazing down on them and
beside it was Ben Stubbs' weather-beaten countenance. Behind them
were Billy, Lathrop and the rest.
"Hold on there and we'll get you out of that in two shakes of a
duck's tail," cheerily hailed the old adventurer. "We guessed you'd
be here and we brought a rope as long as a man of war's cable with
us. Lucky thing we did."
The next minute a long rope of vegetable fiber came snaking down the
side of the cliff and to one end of it clung Ben Stubbs. As he
reached the bottom--the rope being cautiously paid out from above by
his companions--the old seaman swung himself outward from the face
of the rock and "in a brace of shakes," as he would have said, stood
alongside the two boys. In a second his sharp eye took in Harry's
wild looks and hysterical greetings and realized what had happened.
"Now, Frank," he ordered, giving the young aviator the end of the
rope--"catch hold tight and when you are ready give the word."
"But Harry--" gasped Frank, "I can't leave him. Let him go first."
"I'll bring him up. He can't look after himself in the shape he's
in and you are too weak to attempt to help him. Now no talking
back. I'm boss now. Up aloft with you. Haul away there!"
The next minute Frank, clinging to the rope, was being hauled
cautiously up the side of the sheer cliff by careful hands and
shortly he was in the arms of his friends.
Ben Stubbs--to whom the rope with a weight at the end of it had been
swung pendulum wise--next appeared at the summit with Harry in his
strong grip. But it was a white faced inanimate burden he carried.
The boy had swooned.
"He'll be all right in a few minutes," said Ben Stubbs as M.
Desplaines and the others all tried to explain at once to Frank how
Sikaso had guessed what had happened when the boys did not return.
The Krooman had led the party by secret native trails to the cliff
top. Frank clasped the huge black's hand with real gratitude and
tears of thankfulness brimmed in his eyes.
"How can I ever thank you," he said.
"Um--white boys keep away Pool of Death, Sikaso much pleased,"
replied the Krooman turning slowly away with a sad expression on his
face.
"His own son was drowned in it several years ago," said M.
Desplaines briefly.