A TRAGEDY OF THE LAKES
THERE followed a sound as though the wind were suddenly rising. The
sound grew to the roar of a gale.
Rush did not understand the meaning of it. He did understand, however,
that there was a man in the water near by, and that there was a human
life to save.
"Where are you?" he called.
"Here! Be quick!"
Rush had the fellow by the collar, in short order, and with some
difficulty, hauled the man into the life-boat.
"The ship's going down. Get out of here!" cried the rescued sailor.
"Pull out, boys!" commanded Rush, grasping the tiller and swinging the
bow of his boat about.
"There she goes!" shouted the sailor from the "Macomber."
The huge coaler's lights suddenly went out as the sea flooded her dynamo
room. The hatches began blowing off with loud explosions as the water
was forced up under them.
"What is it?" cried Steve.
"The hatches."
Boom!
"There goes the main bulkhead. It's all up with her now."
Yells and cries rent the air. Men were leaping into the sea from the
doomed ship, and though the men in the life-boat could not see, they
could hear.
"I can't stand this!" gritted the Iron Boy, jamming the tiller hard
over.
"What are you going to do?" demanded one of the sailors.
"I'm going in there after those men," answered Steve Rush.
"It's sure death!"
"We'll go, just the same."
"No we won't; we'll pull out of here like lightning."
Steve grabbed up a boat hook.
"Pull, I tell you; pull for all you two are worth, or I'll knock your
heads off with this hook. Now--GO!"
The oarsmen pulled. They were used to obeying orders, and they realized
that the young coxswain of their craft was no weakling. He meant exactly
what he had said. Besides the men, after all, were as anxious to save
those of their own calling, now struggling in the water, as Steve could
possibly be.
The bow of the life-boat sent the water spurting into the air as the
craft cut through the sea. Another man was hauled aboard.
"Where's the rest of them?" demanded Rush.
"The water's full of them," gasped the rescued sailor.
"Ahoy, there, men--swim this way if you can. We're waiting for you.
We'll----"
With a sickening roar that Steve Rush would never forget as long as he
lived, the "Macomber" dived stern first under the surface of the water.
Her engine and boiler rooms, being at the stern, were flooded instantly.
Then came a report as if the universe had been suddenly rent in twain,
an explosion that seemed to rend the air, the earth and the sea.
"The ship's blowing up!" cried one of the men in the boat. He knew what
the sound meant. Steve did not, but he caught his breath sharply when he
heard the words.
"Pull out!"
Instead, the life-boat was lifted out. It seemed to rise right up into
the air, and when the Iron Boy at the helm sought to throw the rudder
over there was not water to push against--only thin air.
"Hang on! We're going over!" shouted the boy.
Cries for help were heard on all sides of the life-boat now. But Steve
was powerless to aid the drowning ones. He was concerned with saving
himself and those with him just at this time.
The boat continued to go into the air; then, suddenly, it swung bottom
side up, spilling its human freight into the lake.
As the men of the life-boat fell into the water they were caught by the
suction of the sinking ship and borne struggling about in the great eddy
that swirled with the speed of a mill-race.
Steve fought valiantly to save himself by trying to swim out of the
whirlpool, but even his great strength was not equal to the task. He was
tossed to the centre of the eddy; then he felt himself being drawn
downward by some invisible force. Even then the Iron Boy did not lose
his presence of mind. He caught and held his breath as the waters were
closing over him.
Down and down shot the body of Steve Rush until he believed he must be
near the bottom of Lake Huron. Hours seemed to have been occupied in the
descent, whereas it had been a matter of seconds only. He had made no
resistance, calmly deciding to save his strength until action would
count for something.
Steve had no thought of giving up. While his heart was filled with a
great dread he was not excited, because he would not permit himself to
be.
"I'll die game, if I do die," he kept repeating to himself.
At last the pull from beneath seemed to be lessening a little. There was
not the same terrific force tugging at his feet. Steve kicked out and
the effort, he thought, raised him a little.
Thus encouraged he began kicking with all his strength, treading water
and working his hands as fast as he could. There could be no doubt about
it now. He was shooting toward the top at a good speed.
Suddenly he gave a great gasp as he felt the warm, damp air strike his
face. His lungs were almost at the bursting point, and he felt that he
could not have held his breath a second longer.
Steve lay over on the water, on his back, moving his hands listlessly to
help keep him afloat. Thus far he had had no thought of the ship to
which he belonged. He was too much exhausted to do more than lie still,
which he did, drawing in long, deep breaths of the fresh air. Nothing
had ever tasted so sweet to Steve Rush and he felt an overpowering
desire to go to sleep.
All at once he threw himself over on his stomach as the long, shrill
blast of a steamer's whistle smote his ears.
"It's the 'Wanderer'!" he cried. "And they must be miles away."
The ship was not very far away. It was the blanket of fog that had
smothered the sound of the whistle and made it seem many miles off to
port of him.
Rush raised his voice and shouted. His voice, of course, carried for a
very short distance, for the same reason that had made the ship's
whistle sound a long way off. Again and again did he shout, but not a
response did he get, save the long wail of the siren. Not a light was to
be seen anywhere, nor were there any signs of the other men who had been
in the life-boat with him at the time it was lifted from the water and
turned bottom side up.
A great feeling of lonesomeness came over the Iron Boy when he realized
that he was far out in the lake alone. He, of course, did not know how
far they were from shore, but he believed it to be at least twenty
miles.
He reasoned that his ship would not sail away without him unless the
captain were reasonably certain that Steve had been drowned. The lad
decided to swim in the direction from which the whistle sound had come.
He had taken but a few strokes when he became entangled in a mass of
wreckage. At first he thought he was going to drown before he could
extricate himself, then he discovered that he could not if he tried.
Illustration: Steve Clung to the Door.
Pieces of floating wood were all about him, some of them the lad
recognized as part of a deck house. He fastened to a door that had been
split in half, probably by the explosion, and stretching out full length
upon it, lay still to rest. He was reasonably safe now, though, of
course, unless he were rescued very soon he would become chilled and
slip off into the sea.
The wind began to stir up out of the southwest a little. Steve took
courage from this.
"It will blow me toward the ship," he exclaimed. "That is, if the ship
is where I think it is."
He began paddling with might and main, steering with his feet as well as
he could, shifting his weight this side and that from time to time as a
swell threatened to upset him.
The siren blew several long blasts.
"That's queer," muttered Steve. "She seems to be getting farther and
farther away from me all the time."
The reason for this was that Rush was getting farther and farther away
from the ship. He was propelling himself along in the wrong direction.
As the fog began to race on ahead of him he took a look over the waters
that now showed white ridges as far as the eye could penetrate. Not a
light could he see, save one bright light dead ahead of him. The light
winked, went out, then suddenly appeared after a few seconds interval.
"There's the ship!" he cried. "But, oh, how far off it seems to be."
What Steve could not understand, was that he did not see more than one
light. Both masthead lights, at least, should have shown. He decided
that the side light, the red and the green, were too low down for him to
catch a glance at over the tops of the rising waves.
"I'll swim for it anyway," he decided, settling to his work with all the
strength that was in him. It would be useless to waste breath in
calling, because those on the ship could not hear him at that great
distance.
Suddenly the wind abated, the fog rolled back over the lake, again
enveloping the swimmer in a dense black mantle. The sea was still
running with him, however, and would continue to do so for some time to
come, thus helping him along.
After a couple hours of paddling and drifting, during which Rush made
considerable headway, the lad realized that he was getting tired.
Further than this he was cold and chilled. The chills extended from his
head to his feet.
"This won't do," Steve cried, confusedly. "If I get much colder I shall
fall off my ship and drown."
He began paddling with renewed vigor, but, work as he would he seemed
unable to throw off the chill. He realized, too, that his body was
getting numb. The Iron Boy fought desperately, but the more he fought
the more drowsy did he become. His efforts grew less and less and his
progress slower.
Steve wrapped both arms about the door and with cheek pressed close to
it, resigned himself to what he thought would be a few minutes' rest.
His heavy eyelids closed slowly; his breathing grew regular, but faint
and his legs stretched out full length, being in the water up to his
knees.
Steve had given way to the languor that was creeping over him. He was
adrift and alone far out on the treacherous water of the great lake.