A STRIKE FOR UNCLE SAM.
How long it was that Ned sat reviewing the situation in all its
bearings he never knew. But it must have been a considerable period,
for, when he began to take notice of his surroundings once more, the
first flush of an early summer's dawn was visible behind him as he
faced what he judged to be the mainland.
The light showed the character of the country across the broad channel
which separated him from it to be much the same as that of the island
on which he had been marooned by the anarchists. It was criss-crossed
with sand dunes till it resembled a crumpled bit of yellow parchment.
Scanty, spear-like grass grew in hummocks on the undulations. As the
light became stronger sea birds began to whirl about him, screaming
weirdly.
Ned gazed seaward. Far out on the horizon was a smudge of black smoke.
It was too great in volume for one vessel to have made. The cloud
reached as far as the eye could see; as if a gigantic and dirty thumb
had been swept across the sky line. To Ned it meant one thing.
"The fleet has passed down the coast on its way to Blackhaven," he
mused. "Oh! for a chance to get to the mainland."
For a time he was in hopes that some fishing craft, or small boat,
might pass within hail. But nothing of the kind occurred.
"I've got to get something to eat pretty soon," thought Ned, who was
beginning to feel faint, "or--hullo! where have I seen that log before?"
His gaze was riveted on a big spar that was drifting idly through the
arm of sea that swept between him and the land.
"I saw that fellow go through here last night; the tide must have
turned and it's drifting back. Well, that settles it. There's almost as
much water and current in there at low water as at high."
He fell to pacing the beach moodily. Once in desperation he waded into
the turbid water and essayed to swim. But he was instantly swept from
his feet, and a strong undertow seized on his legs and drew them down.
When, panting and trembling, he stood once more on shore, he resolved
not to risk his life in that manner again.
"An elephant couldn't swim that," he said to himself sadly.
All at once he looked up, from one of his despairing moods, to see
something that caused him to choke and gasp with hope. Bobbing about on
the water, not a hundred yards from the shore, was--of all things--a
small boat!
Ned watched it fascinated.
Would the current drift it within his reach, or would it be carried
tantalizingly past him? At the moment he gave little thought as to
how it came to be there. It was enough for him that it was a boat,
and offered--providing he could reach it--a means of getting to the
mainland.
In an agony of apprehension he watched the little craft as it came on,
dancing merrily on the choppy ripples of the inlet. Now it shot in
toward the shore, as if it meant to drive bow-on upon the beach, and
then, as Ned sprang forth to grasp it, the current would sweep it out
of his reach. At last it was abreast of him, and in the next second it
had passed beyond. Ned grew desperate.
"Better die in the effort to get to land than perish here of starvation
and thirst," he thought.
Without bothering to kick his shoes off he sprang into the water, which
was deep right up to the margin of the shore, and swam out after the
boat.
In a flash he felt the undertow grip him. He struck out with every
ounce of reserve strength that he possessed, but the current proved
the stronger of the two. Ned, weakened by his long fast and rough
experiences, found himself being rapidly drawn under.
Fighting every inch of the way he was gradually submerged. With a last
effort he struck out again, but the final struggle proved too much for
his already depleted muscles.
The boy was sucked under like a straw.
Where his head had appeared a second before, there was now nothing but
the whirl of the waters.
Suddenly, just as it felt as if his lungs must burst, Ned was shot up
to the surface once more. Too weak to strike out he flung out his hands
in a desperate effort to clutch at anything to sustain his weight.
His hands closed on something solid that buoyed him up refreshingly. It
was the gunwale of the boat!
Ned hung limply to her side, getting back his strength as she glided
along. After several minutes he felt equal to the effort of trying to
board her. He kicked his way round to the stern and clambered over the
transom.
Once on board he lay languidly on the thwarts for some time, too much
exhausted even to move. But by-and-bye, his strength began to trickle
back. He raised himself and looked around him. About the first object
his eyes lighted on was a bit of crumpled paper in the bottom of the
craft.
"Maybe this is some sort of a clew as to how the boat happened along so
providentially," thought Ned.
He opened the paper, scanned the few words it contained, and then his
jaw dropped in sheer amazement. The words of the note were in Herc's
big, scrawly handwriting.
"_Ned, Hope you find the boat. I heard them say they had marooned you
on an island, so I cut the rope. Herc._"
Ned saw at once what had happened, even if a glance at the cut end of
rope in the bow had not told him. Herc had managed to reach out of the
cabin port and slash the rope by which the dinghy had been attached to
the sloop's stern. It had been a long chance, but it had won out.
"I don't believe there's another chap in the world like good old Herc,"
thought Ned tenderly, with a suspicious mist in his eyes as he thought
of his absent comrade; then he took up the oars.
"Now where shall I row to?" he asked himself, as he pulled the boat
along.
He scanned the barren-looking coast, with its inhospitable sand dunes
and melancholy-colored grass, with the sea birds wheeling and screaming
above.
"Humph! Not much choice, apparently. I guess I'll pull just inside of
that little point yonder, and then strike out across the country. I'll
have to trust to luck to find somebody who'll give me a hand."
Half an hour later Ned pulled the small boat ashore and abandoned it.
When he landed he had cherished some hopes of finding a fisherman's
hut, or "beachcomber's" dwelling behind the rampart of sand dunes. But
no trace of even such primitive habitations met his eye. Salt meadows,
threaded by muddy, sluggish creeks, lay inland, and beyond was rising
ground dotted with clumps of woodland.
This looked hopeful. Determined to keep pegging along to the uttermost
that was in him, Ned struck out across the salt meadows.
It was harder work than he had thought. Under the hot sun the miasmic
salt land steamed and perspired. Rank odors arose, and the muddy creeks
steamed. Once or twice he had to wade through the foul water courses,
and, at such times myriads of bloated-looking crabs, that had been
sunning themselves, scuttled, with splashes, into the water.
To add to his discomfort, as the sun grew higher, millions of black
flies and stinging midges arose to plague him. They settled on him
in swarms. Every time Ned wiped out a legion of the tormentors that
had settled on his face, his countenance bore a red smudge. By the
time he had--he hardly knew how--traversed this bad bit of country
and found himself on a dusty white highroad, Ned was scarcely a
presentable-looking object. Mud, from the creeks he had waded, caked
his legs; his face was red and bloody from the onslaughts of the
insects. His clothes were tattered from his fight on the sloop, and,
altogether, he was not an object to inspire confidence.
To add to his misfortunes, he had no money, and Ned knew enough of the
world to know that a lad in his condition, tattered and penniless, does
not, as a rule, excite any feeling but suspicion. However, when about
half a mile further on he came to a small house nestling among rose
vines and creepers, he walked bravely up to the door and knocked.
A prim-looking old maid, in a checked apron, opened the door. As soon
as her eyes fell on Ned she uttered a shrill scream and slammed the
door with an exclamation of alarm and indignation.
"Get along with you, you tramp!" she cried.
Ned turned and trudged down the footpath. But, as he reached the gate,
he heard a commotion behind him. He turned just in time to face a big,
savage-looking bulldog that was about to fly at his leg. Ned raised his
foot and planted it fair and square on the snarling animal's mouth.
The dog fled with a yelp of pain. Ned followed it with his eyes.
"I'll bet that cur has fared better than I have for the last
twenty-four hours," he muttered as he once more began his weary
trudging along the dusty highroad.