STRANGE ADVENTURES.
Save for the tropical tempest that descended, the experience passed
through that night was not a new one to Nick Collins. He had known
what it was to live through dreary hours of darkness longing for the
dawn, and he had gone through that ordeal alone in an open boat, as the
reader knows.
But for the other boys it was a new, and therefore all the more
terrible, experience. How the little yawl escaped being overturned
seemed to the three lads a miracle when they thought about it the next
morning; but escape it did, and to that extent the castaways had to
consider themselves lucky.
When the sun got high enough to illumine the ocean for miles around,
they scanned the horizon with still a glimmering of hope. But there was
no sail in sight, nor any sign of land.
“I suppose we have drifted far away from the reef,” said Frank.
“Very likely,” Nick had to admit.
“We’ll never see the ship again,” groaned Will.
“That’s not sure, by any means,” returned Nick, in an effort to save
his friends from despair. “But we’ve a great deal to be thankful for at
that.”
“What?” wailed Will.
“That we are alive this morning,” replied Nick.
“But the storm isn’t over,” Will moaned.
“Oh, come, Will,” urged Nick. “I know it’s pretty hard on you, but
don’t give way. We might be worse off. The storm isn’t over, yet the
worst of it has passed.”
“But we’re nowhere near land.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” said Nick. “But whether we are near land or
far from it, one thing we must do.”
“You’re right, Nick,” put in Frank. “You mean we must keep our spirits
up.”
“Yes, that’s _just_ what I mean. Thousands of people have been in as
bad a fix as this, and they have got out of it. So try to cheer up,
Will.”
“I’ll try, Nick.”
“That’s the way to talk. We may be found by the _Regent_ in an hour. We
may sight land any moment. Now, there’s another thing that is certain.”
“What’s that, Nick?” asked Frank.
“We must be in the region of Treasure Island.”
“What of it?”
“It means that we are in a part of the ocean where islands are
numerous.”
“And we may be able to reach one?”
“That’s it. So, you see, it isn’t so bad as it may look.”
“Do you think the _Regent_ will hunt for us?” asked Will.
“I do.”
As Nick spoke he had been busy fishing out a piece of tarpaulin that
had been crumpled up in a ball in the bow.
“Here, Frank,” he said. “Catch hold of this.”
“What for?”
“Spread out your two corners of it--so.” Nick did the same with the two
corners that he held. “We’d better catch some of this rain. I don’t
see any other way of getting a drink.”
Thus it was that they quenched their thirst. Then Nick carefully
brought the ends together, making a sort of bag, and in this he
preserved some of the rain water for future use.
It was as Nick had guessed. The worst of the storm was over. They
drifted on until noon, the sea getting quieter as the wind died down.
But it was not a calm that set in by any means. There was still a brisk
breeze.
They were all feeling pretty hungry, you may be sure. They had not
tasted food since supper the evening before, on the _Regent_. The
chances for getting anything to eat were certainly very slim. They had
no means of catching fish. At about three o’clock in the afternoon,
Nick, who had been scanning the expanse of water in all directions,
uttered a cry of excitement.
“What is it?” asked Frank. “A sail?”
“No.”
“Land?”
“No.”
“What, then?”
“Look!”
Nick pointed into the distance, but high above the waves.
The others looked in the direction he indicated.
“Oh, only a bird!” said Frank, disappointed.
“_Only_ a bird!” repeated Nick. “That means land.”
“How so?”
“Because, if I am not mistaken, it is a tree or swamp bird.”
“How can you tell that?”
“See how short its wings are.”
“That’s so.”
They were all country-bred boys, and knew something about the points of
birds.
“And its short bill!” cried Nick. “You can see it plainer now.”
“Yes, yes. I guess you’re right, Nick. And--isn’t there something white
on one foot?”
“Sure there is, Will! Good for you!”
They watched the bird as it flew in another direction, and passed out
of sight.
For two or three hours there was no other incident to revive their
hopes or break the monotony of their dreary wait for something to turn
up. Gloomily they realized that night would soon be upon them again,
and, to make matters worse, it looked as if another storm were brewing.
Suddenly Frank cried out:
“Look! There’s another bird!”
Nick and Will cast their eyes upward.
“No, no,” said Frank. “In the water. Quick! Give me the oar!”
Nick passed him the oar, and with a rapid movement Frank drew to the
boat a dark object that had been floating by. He leaned over and caught
it up.
It was a dead bird.
“It’s a pigeon, isn’t it?” said Nick.
“I think so. And see! There’s something white on its foot!”
“By jiminy! You’re right.”
Attached to one of its legs was a substance of light color.
“It’s a piece of bark!” exclaimed Nick when he had examined it. “It’s
tied on with the fiber of some plant.”
“So it is.”
“It must have been something like this the other bird had tied to it.”
“I think so.”
“This means something, boys. The thing didn’t get on this bird by
accident.”
“That’s a sure thing, Nick.”
“Some one must have tied it on. Why, look here, boys!”
They looked, and saw what had caught Nick’s eye.
“Writing!” exclaimed Frank.
“That’s what it is, as sure as we’re alive. Now, let’s see if we can
make it out.”
Nick set to work. Although upon the wood were traced unmistakably
letters and words, the water had obliterated some of them. Over the
remainder Nick bent and tried to make out something.
“What does it say?” asked Will impatiently.
“Wait a minute,” said Nick, still studying the scrawl. At length he
said: “Boys, it’s a message.”
“A message?”
“No doubt of it. Listen, and I’ll read what I can of it:
‘On--islan--over--en--years--a castaway. If--s--found--send a
ship--t--s--y--years--.’ There’s something else,” Nick went on, “but
I can just make it out. Wait a second. By gracious! I’ve got it:
‘_Sta--f--ope_.’ Hooray! That means _Star of Hope_!”
The other boys bent over the writing eagerly.
“That’s _Star of Hope_, all right,” agreed Frank. “Now let’s see if we
can’t put it all together so as to make some sense out of it.”
And they did so, with the result that they had a message reading thus:
“On an island, over ten years a castaway. If this is found send a
ship. _Star of Hope._”
There was more of which they could make nothing--a blurred mass of
color, where the pencil or ink employed in the writing had been washed
out by the water.
“It’s a puzzle, sure,” said Frank.
“Of one thing I feel certain, though,” Nick announced.
“What’s that?”
“The person who wrote this knows something of the lost ship, the _Star
of Hope_.”
“It looks so.”
“And this is my guess,” Nick went on: “Some sailor wrote the thing, and
a sailor that was on that ship, and he was cast away on some island not
far from here.”
“It seems likely.”
“You see, the message speaks of ‘ten years’. That’s certain. There
isn’t room for more than one letter in the space between the word
‘over’ and ‘en.’ So it couldn’t have been fourteen, fifteen, or any
other ’teen. Do you see?”
“Yes,” the others answered, in chorus.
“Well, it was ten years ago that the _Star of Hope_ was reported lost
at sea.”
The singular occurrence gave the boys much to talk about, but their own
position and its renewing perils claimed their immediate attention.
With the approach of darkness the signs for a stormy night increased.
By the time the sun had gone below the sea the wind was blowing strong
and the waves running high. The boys had all they could do to cling to
the sides of the yawl. They were hungry, weary, almost exhausted, and
it is not likely that they would have been able to weather the storm
another night; something occurred to put them in the last extremity of
danger.
It was at a moment when the lads had reached, it seemed to them, the
utmost limit of their endurance. They were yielding to the despair of
their situation when suddenly Nick called out, and with sufficient
force to be heard by his companions above the swish of the waves, and
despite the shrieking wind:
“A light! A light!”
He pointed straight ahead, where a somewhat feeble gleam appeared and
disappeared, then showed again:
“What does it mean?” asked Frank feebly.
“We must be nearing land,” murmured Nick.
Oh, yes; they were nearing land.
Crash!
The yawl had struck a rock amid the breakers of an island beach!
The timbers of the small boat parted; the boys were flung into the
sea. Nick caught a glimpse of Frank and Will struggling in the foam,
and he made an effort to reach them, but the next moment they had
vanished. Then he was forced to think of his own safety.
For a while he battled with the waves and rocks, and then, unable to
continue the unequal fight, he surrendered to the inevitable.
* * * * *
When Nick, after several hours had gone by, regained consciousness, the
waves had washed him ashore. He opened his eyes, and felt the cooling
rain upon his face. He saw the light of day. The surf, pounding near
by, sent its spray over him.
But he was not alone.
There was a human face near his own. It was not the face of Frank or
Will.
It was that of an aged, careworn man. Its eyes were riveted upon his
with an expression of great tenderness and anxiety.
The man supported Nick in his arms. And when the boy opened his eyes he
heard the words:
“Saved! Thank Heaven!”
“Who--who are you?” asked the wondering lad.
“Your father, Nick. The castaway of the _Star of Hope_!”