OUT OF THE DEPTHS.
Smiling in the face of death, Señor Zorro yet battled to keep from
showing his genuine emotions, because of the presence of the _señorita_.
But in that awful moment when he stood upon the plank, looking first at
the evil faces of Barbados and Sanchez, and then at the agonized
countenance of Señorita Lolita Pulido, he knew what torture meant.
It was not that Señor Zorro was afraid of death in itself――a thing that
must come to every human being in the end. But his agony came from a
knowledge of what he would leave behind when he took the plunge into
the sea.
The woman he had hoped to make his bride, his friends, his father,
his estate――he was leaving them all for the Great Unknown. And he was
young, and had not lived his fill of life. Besides, he was leaving the
_señorita_ in grave danger. He could only hope that his friends in the
vessel behind would be able to be of service to her, and that they
would know how to avenge him.
Barbados gave his last mocking laugh, and Señor Zorro felt the plank
tipping. He felt himself losing his balance. The heavy weight on his
wrists was almost bending him backward. He knew how swiftly it would
carry him down into the depths of the sea. Then would come a brief and
useless struggle, he supposed, a moment of horror――and the end!
His eyes met those of the _señorita_ yet again. And then it seemed that
everything gave way beneath him and he shot downward.
There came a splash of water as he struck the surface――he felt its
sudden chill――and then the waves closed over his head. He was a famous
swimmer, but no man can swim with a heavy bar of metal tied to his
wrists, and those wrists lashed behind his back.
Mechanically Señor Zorro protected himself as he struck the water, as
though for a deep dive. He drew air into his lungs until it seemed that
they would burst. He kicked in vain against the down-pulling power of
the heavy weight. Down and down he went into the depths until the light
from the surface faded and he found himself in darkness.
Señor Zorro prayed and worked at the same instant. He jerked his wrists
from side to side behind his back, trying to force them apart. He
expelled a tiny bit of air now and then as he descended, but retained
it as much as possible.
Often he had played at remaining as long as possible beneath water,
but it is one thing to do so when a man has the knowledge that he can
spring to the surface at any time, and quite another when he has reason
to believe that he never will reach the surface again at all.
Yet he continued to struggle as he shot downward. Red flashes were
before his eyes now, and a multitude of faces and scenes seemed to flit
before him.
In that awful instant he relived half his life.
“_Dios!_” he thought. “If this be death――”
Another tug he gave at his wrists. The man who had lashed the heavy
weight there had not done his work well. Perhaps he was too busy
watching Barbados and fearing him. Perhaps he had held a sneaking
admiration for this Señor Zorro, who had offered battle to an entire
ship’s company. However, the rope that held the weight gave a trifle.
Señor Zorro, in his agony, realized that. He tugged again, and then
pressed his palms close together and drew in his wrists as much as
possible. The heavy weight, dragging downward, pulled the loose loop
over the wrists and hands. Zorro felt an immediate relief. He realized
what had happened. And then he began his battle to reach the surface.
The weight was gone, but his wrists were still lashed together behind
his back.
He kicked and struggled and shot upward. He expelled more of the
precious air his lungs retained. His chest was burning, his ears were
ringing, he was almost unconscious because of the pressure of the
water he had been forced to endure.
He saw a glimmer of light, but knew that the surface was yet far away.
And it occurred to him that even the surface did not mean life. For his
wrists were yet bound behind him, and he was miles from the shore.
On he went, up and up, struggling and fighting. He jerked at his wrists
until they were raw and bleeding, but to no avail. Those who had lashed
his wrists had done better than the one who had fastened the weight to
them.
And finally he gave a last struggle, a last kick, and felt the blessed
air striking upon his face.
He fought to get into the proper position for resting as much as he
could. He kept afloat, and he drew in great gasps of air, and finally
reduced his breathing to normal. And then, as he rose on the crest of a
wave, he looked around as well as he could.
The pirate ship was some distance away, sailing slowly before a gentle
breeze. Señor Zorro found himself floating in her wake. He could
see men rushing around her deck and up into her rigging, but at the
distance could not guess their tasks.
The wave dropped him and lifted him again, spinning him halfway around.
Señor Zorro gasped at the risk of swallowing a portion of salt water.
Bearing down upon him was the other craft, the one with the gigantic Z
up on the sail. Zorro saw that he was directly in her path.
Not much hope burned in his breast, yet the spirit of combat still
lived. He would not give up so long as there was the slightest chance.
He would fight――fight――until, exhausted, he sank for the last time
toward the bottom of the sea.
Those on the approaching ship did not see him, for they were watching
the pirate craft and preparing for the battle that was to come.
He hailed those on board, but his voice was drowned by the roar of the
water against the schooner’s bows. He saw that she would strike him,
and kicked frantically to work himself to one side of the track she was
following. Another glance ahead at the pirate craft convinced him that
the schooner would not change her course.
Once more he tugged at his bonds, to no avail. He felt himself drawn in
toward the schooner’s bows, and fought against the pull of the water
helplessly. He was picked up, hurled forward, whirled around. Had he
saved himself from the depths, he wondered, to be crushed senseless by
the bow of the craft that carried his friends? Then she was upon him.
He rose with the crest of a wave and was hurled at the bow.
He saw an anchor chain that was loosely looped and a dragging line.
If he could but catch one of those and make his way to the deck,
there might be some chance. Once more the sea whirled him and cast
him forward. He came against the swinging loop of anchor chain with a
crash, grasped it, was lifted and dropped, but held on!
For a moment he rested, panting, realizing how precarious was his
position. He threw one leg around the swinging chain. How to reach the
bowsprit he could not fathom. Those above would pay no attention to
him, and could not hear him if he hailed. And to climb that swinging
loop of chain would be a task for an athlete with his hands unbound.
The bow of the ship dipped, and Señor Zorro felt himself soused beneath
the water for an instant. He gripped the chain with his hands and his
leg and fought to maintain his position. His arms were aching, and the
chain had cut through his clothing already and was chafing at his leg.
Once more the bow dipped, and Zorro slipped a few feet along the chain,
unable to stop his descent.
He gripped with his leg again. His hands came to a stop, and he
realized that the rope that bound them had found an obstruction. Zorro
worked slowly and carefully with his fingers, even as he held on. One
of the links of the chain, he found, was imperfect, had cracked, and
presented on one side a jagged edge.
Hope sang in his breast once more. But he knew that he would have to
work carefully. He did not dare release his hold entirely, for a sudden
dip of the bow and the quick wash of the water would be enough to
sweep him from the chain. But he sawed back and forth as well as he
could, pulling the rope across the rough edge of the chain link.
He glanced ahead. The ships were not far apart now, and the schooner
swung a bit to starboard, so as to bear down upon the pirate craft
from a more advantageous angle. Zorro worked frantically, and after a
time he felt the rope give. His wrists were raw and paining. His leg
was bleeding already. There were pains in his head, and his vision was
imperfect, but hope sang within him once more.
He sawed and sawed, and once more he glanced ahead. It would not be
long now before the ships clashed. He wanted to be up on the deck,
normal breath in his nostrils and the sword of Zorro in his hand, to
aid his friends, to fight his way to the deck of the pirate craft and
to the _señorita’s_ side.
The rope gave again. Señor Zorro was forced to rest for a moment,
leaning back on the chain. A wave swept him to one side, and he thought
for an instant that he was gone. But he regained his balance and
continued his sawing.
And presently he knew that he was free. The rope dangled from one wrist
only. He gave an exclamation of delight and thanks, gripped the chain,
and turned over. He regarded his bleeding wrists, hesitated a moment,
gathered breath and courage, and commenced the perilous ascent of the
chain.
It was a painful and difficult task. Señor Zorro set his teeth into
his lower lip and struggled upward foot by foot. The swinging chain,
slippery, from the sea, threatened to pitch him back into the water.
Every few feet he was obliged to stop, to gasp for breath and close his
eyes for a moment because the pain in his wrists and leg made him weak
with nausea.
He came within a short distance of the vessel, slipped back, and forced
his way upward again. And finally he grasped with one hand the chain
port and held on. His hope had increased now. Nothing would make him
loose his hold, he told himself.
A moment he rested, then forced his way upward again. The schooner was
very close to the pirate ship now. On the deck above him Señor Zorro
could hear Don Audre Ruiz shrieking instructions to the _caballeros_
and the captain shouting to his crew.
He managed to get up to the butt of the bowsprit, and there, safe
from the sea, he rested for a moment again. The two ships would crash
together in a minute or so, he saw. He raised his head weakly, and took
a deep breath, and then struggled to his feet, ready to spring down to
the deck.
His hand went down to whip the sword of Zorro from its scabbard. The
schooner yawed suddenly as her helmsman fought to get a position of
advantage. The big jib swung back, whipped by the angry wind.
Señor Zorro was looking down at the deck, and he did not see his
danger. Don Audre Ruiz turned at the instant, shrieked, and rubbed his
eyes.
“Zorro!” he cried.
He was seen from the deck of the pirate craft, too.
Barbados and Sanchez caught sight of him. Sanchez crossed himself
quickly, and the face of Barbados turned white.
And then the jib cracked against Señor Zorro’s body, knocked him from
his precarious perch, and hurled him once more into the sea!