THE PLUNGE!
Dazed though Stern was at his first realization of the
impending horror, yet through his fear for Beatrice, still asleep
among her furs, struggled a vast wonder at the meaning, the
possibility of such a phenomenon.
How could a current like that rush up along the Sound? How could there
be a cataract, sucking down the waters of the sea itself--whither
could it fall? Even at that crisis the man's scientific curiosity was
aroused; he felt, subconsciously, the interest of the trained observer
there in the midst of deadly peril.
But the moment demanded action.
Quickly Stern dropped to the deck, and, noiseless as a cat in his
doe-skin sandals, ran aft.
But even before he had executed the instinctive tactic of shifting the
helm, paying off, and trying to beat up into the faint breeze that now
drifted over the swirling current, he realized its futility and
abandoned it.
"No use," thought he. "About as effective as trying to dip up the
ocean with a spoon. Any use to try the sweeps? Maybe she and I
together could swing away out of the current--make the shore--nothing
else to do--I'll try it, anyhow."
Beside the girl he knelt.
"Beta! Beta!" he whispered in her ear. He shook her gently by the arm.
"Come, wake up, girlie--there's work to do here!"
She, submerged in healthy sleep, sighed deeply and murmured some
unintelligible thing; but Stern persisted. And in a minute or so there
she was, sitting up in the bottom of the yawl among the furs.
In the dim moonlight her face seemed a vague sweet flower shadowed by
the dark, wind-blown masses of her hair. Stern felt the warmth,
scented the perfume of her firm, full-blooded flesh. She put a hand to
her hair; her tiger-skin robe, falling back to the shoulder, revealed
her white and beautiful arm.
All at once she drew that arm about the man and brought him close to
her breast.
"Oh, Allan!" she breathed. "My boy! Where are we? What is it? Oh, I
was sleeping so soundly! Have we reached harbor yet? What's that
noise--that roaring sound? Surf?"
For a moment he could not answer. She, sensing some trouble, peered
closely at him.
"What is it, Allan?" cried she, her woman's intuition telling her of
trouble. "Tell me--is anything wrong?"
"Listen, dearest!"
"Yes, what?"
"We're in some kind of--of--"
"What? Danger?"
"Well, it may be. I don't know yet. But there's something wrong. You
see--"
"Oh, Allan!" she exclaimed, and started up. "Why didn't you waken me
before? What is it? What can I do to help?"
"I think there's rough water ahead, dear," the engineer answered,
trying to steady his voice, which shook a trifle in spite of him. "At
any rate, it sounds like a waterfall of some kind or other; and see,
there's a line, a drift of vapor rising over there. We're being
carried toward it on a strong current."
Anxiously she peered, now full awake. Then she turned to Allan.
"Can't we sail away?"
"Not enough wind. We might possibly row out of the current, and--and
perhaps--"
"Give me one of the sweeps quick, quick!"
He put the sweeps out. No sooner had he braced himself against a rib
of the yawl and thrown his muscles against the heavy bar than she,
too, was pulling hard.
"Not too strong at first, dear," he cautioned. "Don't use up all your
strength in the first few minutes. We may have a long fight for it!"
"I'm in it with you--till the end--whichever way it ends," she
answered; and in the moonlight he saw the untrammeled swing and play
of her magnificent body.
The yawl came round slowly till it was crosswise to the current,
headed toward the mainland shore. Now it began to make a little
headway. But the breeze slightly impeded it.
Stern whipped out his knife and slashed the sheets of platted rush.
The sail crumpled, crackled and slid down; and now under a bare pole
the boat cradled slowly ahead transversely across the foam-streaked
current that ran swiftly soughing toward the dim vapor-swirls away to
the northeast.
No word was spoken now. Both Beatrice and Stern lay to the sweeps;
both braced themselves and put the full force of back and arms into
each long, powerful stroke. Yet Stern could see that, at the rate of
progress they were making over that black and oily swirl, they could
not gain ten feet while the current was carrying them a thousand.
In his heart he knew the futility of the fight, yet still he fought.
Still Beatrice fought for life, too, there by his side. Human
instinct, the will to live, drove them on, on, where both understood
there was no hope.
For now already the current had quickened still more. The breeze had
sprung up from the opposite direction; Stern knew the boiling rush of
waters had already reached a speed greater than that of the wind
itself. No longer the stars trembled, reflected, in the waters. All
ugly, frothing, broken, the swift current foamed and leaped, in long,
horrible gulfs and crests of sickening velocity.
And whirlpools now began to form. The yawl was twisted like a straw,
wrenched, hurled, flung about with sickening violence.
"Row! _Row!_" Stern cried none the less. And his muscles bunched and
hardened with the labor; his veins stood out, and sweat dropped from
his brow, ran into his eyes, and all but blinded him.
The girl, too, was laboring with all her might. Stern heard her
breath, gasping and quick, above the roar and swash of the mad waters.
And all at once revulsion seized him--rage, and a kind of mad
exultation, a defiance of it all.
He dropped the sweep and sprang to her.
"Beta!" he shouted, louder than the droning tumult. "No use! No use at
all! Here--come to me!"
He drew the sweep inboard and flung it in the bottom of the yawl.
Already the vapors of the cataract ahead were drifting over them and
driving in their faces. A vibrant booming shuddered through the dark
air, where now even the moon's faint light was all extinguished by the
whirling mists.
Heaven and sea shook with the terrible concussion of falling waters.
Though Stern had shouted, yet the girl could not have heard him now.
In the gloom he peered at her; he took her in his arms. Her face was
pale, but very calm. She showed no more fear than the man; each seemed
inspired with some strange exultant thought of death, there with the
other.
He drew her to his breast and covered her face; he knelt with her
among the heaped-up furs, and then, as the yawl plunged more violently
still, they sank down in the poor shelter of the cabin and waited.
His arms were about her; her face was buried on his breast. He
smoothed her hair; his lips pressed her forehead.
"Good-by!" he whispered, though she could not hear.
They seemed now to hover on the very brink.
A long, racing sluicelike incline of black waters, streaked with
swirls of white, appeared before them. The boat plunged and whirled,
dipped, righted, and sped on.
Behind, a huge, rushing, wall-like mass of lathering, leaping surges.
In front, a vast nothingness, a black, unfathomable void, up through
which gushed in clouds the mighty jets of vapor.
Came a lurch, a swift plunge.
The boat hung suspended a moment.
Stern saw what seemed a long, clear, greenish slant of water. Deafened
and dazed by the infernal pandemonium of noise, he bowed his head on
hers, and his arms tightened.
Suddenly everything dropped away. The universe crashed and bellowed.
Stern felt a heavy dash of brine--cold, strangling, irresistible.
All grew black.
"_Death!_" thought he, and knew no more.