MAN OVERBOARD!
Dusk had succeeded the glorious sun-set and touched it with the sombre
hue of twilight. The day had been exceptionally hot, a day when one
seems to find just sufficient energy to lounge in an easy chair under
the pretense of reading a novel until a delightful drowsiness creeps
over you and all pretense is at an end--you are sleeping the sleep of
the just on a scorching summer day.
But now night had descended on the stately _Northland_, and with it had
come a cool, refreshing breeze. All was quiet, serene, peaceful, and
among the passengers, lounging in groups about the deck, conversation
was carried on in undertones.
"Gee," Tom was saying, softly. "This has been one great day, hasn't it?
Nothing to do but hang around on deck, alternately reading, sleeping and
watching the wheels go 'round."
"Yes, I guess this is about the first day since we have been on board
that something exciting hasn't happened and it seems mighty good for a
change."
"Look out," Bert warned. "The day isn't over yet and there is plenty of
time for something exciting to happen between this and midnight. For my
part, I wouldn't much mind if it did, for after a day like this you feel
as if you needed something to wake you up."
"Do you?" Tom queried, sarcastically. "I feel just now as if I had more
urgent need of something to put me to sleep," and with a yawn he dropped
into a convenient chair and settled himself comfortably with his feet
against the rail. "Sing us that song you used to sing at college before
we threatened to set the Black Hand on your trail, Dick," he invited.
"Perhaps that will help to woo sweet slumber."
"It would be much more likely to woo sweet nightmare," said Bert, which
was true if not complimentary.
"That's all right," Dick retorted, good-naturedly. "Of course, I
understand that this apparent reluctance on your part is due entirely to
sour grapes since you doubtless are aware of the fact that I never would
condescend----"
"Oh can it," Tom murmured, sleepily. "If you won't sing, the least you
can do is to keep still and let a fellow go to sleep."
"Oh, certainly," Dick said, obligingly, "anything you wish. As I was
saying," he went on with a wink at Bert, "you are doubtless aware that I
would never condescend to render that immortal ballad before so----"
"You have gone too far," Tom cried in a terrible voice, as he sprang for
Dick. "You have dared disobey my mandates and now you shall suffer the
penalty----"
But the mock tragedy was never enacted, for, even as Tom spoke, his
attention was caught by the figure of a man covered from head to foot
with soot and grime and running toward their end of the deck at full
speed. At his heels was a crowd led by the steward who cried out
frantically to the boys, "Stop him, stop him! He's gone mad!"
So suddenly had come the thunder-bolt from a clear sky that for a few
seconds the boys could do nothing but stare at the spectacle before them
and wonder if they could be awake. In fact, Bert confessed later that he
had had a faint impression that Dick's nightmare must have come upon
them ahead of time.
Bert was the first to take in the situation and with a cry of, "I guess
it's up to us, fellows," he ran toward the wild figure now only a few
feet in front of them. But even as the three comrades threw out their
hands to halt the flying madman, he paused, glared around him for an
instant with the look of a hunted animal brought to bay, and then, with
a fierce, inhuman cry that echoed in Bert's memory for many a long day
after, he threw himself over the rail and into the glassy depths nearly
forty feet below!
For a brief moment there was the silence of death on board the
_Northland_, and then arose such an uproar that even the captain's great
voice, shouting orders to the crew, could scarcely be heard above the
din.
"'Tis nought but a stoker gone crazy with the heat of the day," Bert
heard a man say.
"Ay," growled a stoker who had also overheard. "'Tis a wonder that we
are all not crazy or dead this day, but that poor devil is worse off
than us for he can't swim a stroke."
"Did you say that that man can't swim?" Bert demanded, while a look of
horror crept over his face.
"That I did, young feller," the stoker answered, as he eyed Bert
insolently from head to foot, "though doubtless he can find something to
hang on to until----"
But Bert never heard the end of the sentence for he was busy untying his
shoes and stripping off his coat.
"Bert, Bert, you are never going to risk your life needlessly for that
madman," Tom pleaded. "The boat is stopping, now, and it will pick him
up in a few minutes. Anyway he's crazy----"
But Bert stopped him. "He's a man," he said simply, "and he can't swim."
Then there was a flash of white in the air, a quick splash and Bert was
on his way to save a life.
Down there in the eddy and swirl of the waves, Bert had but one thought,
one hope--to reach that little speck that he had sighted from the deck
of the steamer. Nor did it once occur to him that he could have acted
otherwise. One of his fellow beings had need of his splendid strength
and skill, and not until they failed him would he give up the fight.
So on and on he swam, taxing his great vitality and endurance to the
utmost. But to his tortured fancy it seemed as though he were being
dragged backward. Surely he could not be making any progress at all at
this speed. Then a fierce feeling of anger swept over him, burning him
like a flame--anger at this feeling of impotence that threatened to
master him.
"One would think," he raged, "that I had never been outside a country
town in my life. I am making progress. I can save that fellow's life,
and what's more, I'm going to."
Ah, that was better! Now every long, powerful stroke did its work and
soon he was within a few feet of the spot where the madman was holding
on to a slippery piece of driftwood, that now and again slipped from
his numbed fingers, only to be regained by a desperate effort.
As Bert neared him, the stoker cried out frantically, "Don't come near
me! Don't touch me! I'll kill you if you do!"
But as he spoke his fingers lost their grip and he would have sunk below
the surface if it had not been for Bert's cat-like quickness. In a
flash, he had grasped the stoker around the waist and lifted his head
above the water, but he was not quite prepared for what was to follow.
For a second the stoker lay passive in Bert's grasp, gasping for breath.
Then with the quick, sinuous motion of a reptile he twisted about and
met his fingers around Bert's throat in the vise-like grip that only a
maniac can effect and began slowly to tighten his hold.
In desperation Bert tore at the relentless fingers, fighting with all
the fierceness of a wild animal for his life. But the more he struggled
the tighter grew that band of iron about his neck. They were under water
now, but not even threatened suffocation could make the madman loose his
grip. Tighter and tighter it grew, until Bert felt the blood go pounding
up into his brain and his eyes seemed starting from his head.
Was this to be the end, then, of all his hopes, of all his dreams, of
all his aspirations? His college, his friends, his two dear comrades,
was he to lose all these now, when his future was filled with such
bright promise? And that by the hands of a man he had risked his life to
save!
Then once again came that rush of wild, hot anger, this time a
thousandfold more fierce than before, and again it seemed to give him
exhaustless strength. He drew his arm back slowly, and then with all the
strength of his body behind it planted his fist squarely in the madman's
forehead.
Then, at last, that iron grip loosened and the fingers relaxed their
hold. With great joy and exultation in his heart, Bert grasped the arm
as it slipped past him and dragged him to the surface.
With a feeling of exquisite comfort and ease, he floated on his back,
drawing in great breaths of the glorious air into his tortured lungs.
Softly as in a dream he heard the faint dip of oars in the water and
then came Dick's voice calling his name.
"Stay where you are, Bert," it was saying. "We'll be with you in a
jiffy, now."
"You mean we will if this hanged boat ever stops going backward and
makes up its mind to travel in the right direction," Tom said
impatiently. "We've been five minutes getting nowhere, already."
"Stop your growling, Tom," Dick commanded. "You ought to be so
all-fired thankful to see Bert floating on the surface instead of being
entertained in Davy Jones' locker that you wouldn't have time for
anything but thanksgiving."
"You don't suppose that I'm not thankful, do you," Tom demanded,
huskily. "If he hadn't come up again after we saw him go under
I--well--I--Bert," he called, lustily, to hide the break in his voice,
"can you hear us now?"
"Sure thing," came a weak voice that they nevertheless recognized as
Bert's.
Then the rowers redoubled their efforts and in a few strokes had reached
the spot where Bert floated with his still-unconscious burden. In less
time than it takes to tell, willing hands had lifted the stoker into the
boat and Bert was half dragged, half pushed in after him. For the
fierce, superhuman strength that had come to him in his extremity had
passed as quickly as it had come, leaving him as weak as a rag. It had
been through sheer grit and will power that he had been able to hold on
to the stoker until the boat could relieve him.
As he was hauled into the boat, Dick and Tom fell upon him, half
laughing, half crying and wholly joyful. They showered him with praises
and called him every endearing name they could think of, such as--"dear
old fellow, game old scout," and a hundred others equally incoherent
but eminently satisfactory.
After five minutes of hard pulling, the little boat reached the
steamer's side. Her rails were crowded with passengers, waiting to
welcome in the first real drama that many of them had ever witnessed.
As Bert was helped on deck he was welcomed with a rousing cheer that
might have been heard for a mile around the ship. Bert flushed with
pleasure and acknowledged the salute as best he could in his dripping
garments, while he whispered to his two companions:
"Get me into the cabin as soon as you can, will you, fellows? It's fine
of them to greet me so right royally, but I know I must look a wreck and
it wouldn't feel so very bad to get some dry clothes on."
Meanwhile, the stoker, who had not regained consciousness, was taken
below to receive medical attention. As the sailors laid him on his bunk
they muttered discontentedly of the inadvisability of rescuing mad
stokers, who were little better than land lubbers, anyway.
"Sure and now we'll be having one more worthless shpalpeen on our
hands," O'Brien was saying. "Oi'm not sayin' as it wasn't a brave thing
that that young feller has been afther doin', but jist the same it would
'a been bether to have left him there and saved us the throuble of
burying of him later."
"Ay, ay, so say I," growled another. "He'll probably die before the
week's out, and 'tis my opinion that he's better dead than alive, seein'
he's crazy, poor devil."
"Hush! he's conscious," warned the doctor, as he rose from his kneeling
position beside the bunk. "He will do nicely, now, with good care. I'll
be back in an hour to see how he's getting along."
As the doctor left the room, the two sailors neared the stoker, who lay
with his eyes closed, as if absolutely oblivious to their presence.
"Well, old b'y," said O'Brien, "how be ye feelin' afther your duckin'?
Pretty spry?"
Slowly the man opened his eyes and let them rest for a long minute on
the big Irishman's ruddy face. When he spoke, the words came haltingly,
as if he were groping in his memory for facts that persistently eluded
him.
"I don't seem to recollect," he said, "just exactly what happened. Was
I--did I"--and the fear and pleading in his voice went straight to
O'Brien's heart--"was I--mad?"
"Now don't you worry about that, son," O'Brien lied, kindly. "Ye wuzn't
mad, ye wuz jist a thrifle touched be the heat. Oi'll bet anythin' ye'll
be up 'n aroun' as hale an' hearty as the skipper himself in a day or
two." Then he added in an undertone to his companion, "Bedad, an' if he
ain't as sane as any man jack of us, me name ain't Pat O'Brien. Sure an'
Oi ain't niver seen the loike of it before."
"Me neither," the other answered in awestruck tones. "He goes off the
boat madder than a March hare and comes back after a dip in the briny
and a knock-out punch over one eye seemin' as right as a trivet. It
beats all."
Meanwhile the man on the bed had been watching the men wistfully, and
as O'Brien turned to him again, he asked eagerly, "Please tell me
everything. I know I was out of my head, so you needn't be afraid to
tell me the truth."
"Sure and Oi will, then," Pat said, heartily, and he did, from beginning
to end, omitting nothing.
When the tale was finished the doctor came again to have another look at
his patient and was surprised and delighted at his improvement. "Why,
at this rate we'll have you up and around by this time day after
to-morrow," he cried. "What's that?" as the stoker whispered something
in his ear. "Why, yes, I guess he will come. I'll give him your message,
anyway, and see what he says."
Then with a cheerful nod he left his patient to the enjoyment of a
well-cooked, appetizing meal.
Half an hour later Bert, clad once more in dry, snug clothes, made his
way hurriedly below to the stokers' cabin. He had declined his friends'
offer to accompany him, for his instinct told him that the stoker would
prefer to see him alone.
As he turned the knob of the door the stoker looked around inquiringly.
Bert went forward quickly.
"I am Bert Wilson," he said. "The doctor gave me your message and I came
as soon as I could get a bite to eat."
"It was very good of you to come, sir," the man replied, nervously
fumbling with a glass on the table at his elbow. "You see, I wanted to
thank you and tell you how sorry I am that I gave you--any--trouble
in the water." His voice was scarcely above a whisper. "I can jist
recollect, now, that I tried to--kill--you. Can you ever--forgive----"
"Forgive," Bert interrupted. "Why, I have nothing to forgive, but if I
had I would have forgiven and forgotten long ago." Then he put out his
hand impulsively and said in that frank, open way that was peculiarly
his own, "You and I have gone through great danger together and have
managed to pull through with nothing but a few scratches to tell the
story. Shall we shake hands on it?"
* * * * *
"Well, you sure did get everything that was coming to you, Bert," Tom
said, as they were getting ready for bed that night. "You asked for
excitement----"
"And I got it," Bert finished, as he slipped in between the cool,
inviting sheets. "Good-night, fellows, I'm off."