LOST OVERBOARD
Down he went, the dull roar of water in his ears. Then, even more
quickly, he was shot to the surface. Instinctively he thrashed arms and
legs. His lungs seemed bursting by the time his head was momentarily
above the waves, and he could not have cried out had his life depended
on it. All he could do was take a great breath of air as he went
swirling upward on the crest of a sea. For an instant he opened closed
eyes. Below him was a dim gleam of light, and even as he sank suddenly
downward again into a trough he startledly realized that the _944_ was
almost within arm’s length. Then he was again buried under an avalanche
of water and must needs fight for breath and struggle mightily, and
when next he could blink the drops from his eyes the faint glow was
above him but no farther away. By some strange whim of wind or current,
he thought, he was being borne along with the boat! At another moment
the absurdity of the idea would have followed the thought, but not now.
Now he accepted the miracle and made the most of it. Drawing a deep
breath into the tired lungs, he shouted with all his remaining strength.
But that cry was whisked away on the gale and never reached the deck. A
deluge of water, breaking over the boat, descended on him and sent him
rolling over and over, gasping and choking. Then a mighty wave caught
him up and again tossed him high in air, and it was then, thrashing
and fighting to get his head above the surface, that one hand collided
with a rope and the miracle was explained. He knew then why he had
been so abruptly pulled from the depths and why he was still alongside
the chaser. In some strange manner a line, probably one that they had
been lashing the small boat with, had fouled itself around him and
caught under his life-vest. At all events there it was, slackening and
tightening, pulling him willy-nilly through the sea. He gripped both
hands about it and held on tightly, while a warm flood of hope and
thankfulness surged through him. Then he began to pull himself, hand
over hand, half drowning under the battering waves. Fear that the line
might come away at the other end before he could reach safety stopped
the beating of his heart once, but he kept on. At moments he was thrown
high above the deck, at other times he wallowed far below it, and as
the line jerked in his grasp he set his teeth and held his breath and
went floundering with it, his hands and arms aching with the strain.
Then, in the black darkness, he knew that the hull was beside him. A
sudden roll of the boat left him dangling for an instant half out of
water. He didn’t shout, for he needed every ounce of his strength for
the task that remained. Twice his body was hurled with terrific force
against the side and what little breath remained with him was hammered
out. But he held doggedly to the rope and waited and after what seemed
long, long minutes wave and boat combined to solve his problem. At the
moment that the _944_ rolled her port rail down a wave lifted him up.
He pulled frantically on the line and then, releasing one hand, groped
for another hold.
There was a horrible instant of despair during which his eager fingers
encountered only empty air, but then, as the deck swung away and he
felt himself dropping back into the sea, his fingers closed about a
rail stanchion. He found a hold for his left hand, too, as the _944_
careened to starboard, and he felt his dripping body torn from the
water and left dangling against the hull. For a second of time he hung
there limp and still while the roll of the boat carried him up and up.
Then, summoning what little strength was left in his tired body, he
squirmed and pulled, reaching for new holds, finally working one knee
over the edge and then holding himself there while the boat rolled
back again and a torrent of water, bursting over the stern, tore at
his straining hands. He wanted to gasp for help then, but there was
no breath left, and his appeal was no more than a whisper. His wet
clothing seemed to weigh tons, and he despaired of ever pulling himself
to safety. And perhaps he never would have. But while he clung there
like a limpet, hands fastened under his shoulders and he felt himself
being lifted. Then the deck flung itself up at him and he knew no more.
When he opened his eyes again he was undressed and between the gray
blankets of his bunk in the dimly lighted fo’c’sle. Figures moved about
him hazily. Some one tried to make him drink something hot, and after
muttered objections he swallowed a few mouthfuls and was horribly sick
at his stomach. He must have slept after that, for when he awoke again
daylight was flooding the quarters. He felt absurdly weak, too tired to
lift the hand that, unconsciously, had braced against the edge of the
bunk while he slept, too weary to keep his eyes open. He dozed again
and awoke a third time to find Pete gently shaking him.
“Here’s your grub, Kid,” said Pete. “Your orders is to drink this
coffee and eat the chuck. Cook’s made you a fine mess o’ gruel. Want to
sit up?”
Dave blinked and cast a puzzled look about the fo’c’sle. Yes, it really
was the fo’c’sle, which was a mighty relief to him, since during his
recent doze he had dreamed that he was fighting for life in the sea.
Clothing swayed with every roll and toss and boots slid around the
floor. Clinging to the frame of the bunk, Pete was balancing himself
with difficulty and the coffee by some seemingly superhuman effort. He
was alternately frowning anxiously at the aluminum cup and grinning at
Dave. Dave shook his head, however.
“I’m not hungry, thanks, Pete,” he said. “What――who――”
“What――who yourself! Come on now an’ be a sport, Kid. Orders is
orders, you know. An’ say, if you don’t eat this chow cook’ll be in
here with his cleaver. He’s in a nasty temper, anyway, what with makin’
coffee standin’ on his head. Take it from Pete, Kid, you’d better do as
he tells you.”
Dave smiled and squirmed higher in the bunk, and, with Pete, braced
against the side, aiding, managed to get nearly as much coffee down his
throat inside as out. And he succeeded ultimately in swallowing some of
the gruel and trying to look grateful, although he secretly thought it
particularly vile. Pete refused him talk until he had made his meal.
Then setting mug and pannikin on the deck, where they at once began
to chase each other to and fro, he staggered to the end of the bunk,
bumped his head resoundingly and sat down very suddenly.
“Well, now, how does it feel to be drowned an’ come to life again,
Kid?” he inquired. “Say, you’re a lucky guy all right, do you know it?
Jonah ain’t got nothin’ on you. You wasn’t never born to be drowned, I
guess. If poor old Billy――”
Pete stopped abruptly.
“Who’s poor old Billy?” asked Dave weakly.
“Nobody,” growled Pete. “Tell me, Kid, did you tie that line around
you before you went over, or what?”
“No, I didn’t know it was there at first. I guess I was in the water
five minutes before I happened to find it.”
“Five minutes!” said Pete, looking queer.
“Well, something like that. Why?”
“How long do you think you was gone from our midst altogether?”
“I don’t know, Pete. It seemed a long time, but I suppose it wasn’t
more than ten minutes, maybe.”
“Huh! You was gone just about three minutes from the time the wave
struck us till I hauled you in again!”
“Three minutes,” faltered Dave. “You’re fooling! Why――why, it seemed
like twenty!”
“Sure, I guess it did, at that. After that sea flattened us out Myers
shouts ‘Who’s gone?’ Well, we didn’t know because we was all pretty
busy pickin’ ourselves out o’ the water. I was jammed so hard under the
boat we was lashin’ I couldn’t scarcely get out again. Then Myers tells
us to call our names, an’ we done so, an’ we seen that――that you wasn’t
there. Leastways we knew it. So some one heaves over a life-buoy and
Myers tries to make the bridge to report, ’cause shoutin’ wasn’t no
good. An’ about that time another wave strikes us an’ we had to hold on
for our lives. That wave was about as fierce as the first one, too, and
Billy――” Again Pete caught himself up. “Anyway, it was after that that
I got to the side, with Mallory holdin’ on to me an’ the life-line, an’
sort o’ seen you hangin’ to the rail. It wa’n’t more than three minutes
all told, Kid. We thought first you hadn’t never been clear over but
had caught yourself at the rail. Then, when we got you back on deck
there was the line snarled up with your life-vest and twisted around
under your arms. Kid, you ain’t got no kick comin’ against your luck,
take it from Pete!”
“No,” agreed Dave, gravely. Then, “Wasn’t Billy Groom with us last
night there?” he asked.
Pete nodded.
“What――where is he now?”
“Billy? Oh, Billy’s――Billy’s around, I guess.” Pete spoke carelessly
enough, but his eyes shifted from Dave’s. “Well, we’re glad to get you
back, Kid, an’――”
“Was Billy drowned, Pete?” asked Dave in a small voice.
Pete frowned deeply, glanced at the other, looked away again, thrust
out his lower lip and at last nodded silently.
“Gee!” murmured Dave.
“He went over in the next wave,” said Pete, scowling. “He never had no
show in that sea. We slung him a ‘doughnut,’ but I guess it never came
near him. I thought I wouldn’t tell you, ’cause it might make you sick
again.” Pete eyed the other anxiously.
“It does――sort of,” muttered Dave. “I had all the luck, didn’t I? Groom
was a better sailor than I’ll ever be, Pete. He had his rating badge. I
guess it would have been fairer if――if he’d had the rope.”
“Aw, chase yourself!” growled Pete. “Billy was all right, sure. He
was a corkin’ lad. We’re all sorry about him. But say, things don’t
just happen in this world, if you get me, Kid. I mean”――Pete frowned
deeply――“I mean things is all doped out for us beforehand. You was
meant to have that line an’ poor old Billy Groom wasn’t. I don’t know
why, but there it is. Maybe you was wanted to do somethin’ Billy
couldn’t. I don’t know. Well, I got to beat it. The luff’ll be around
pretty soon to see how you are. If you don’t want to tumble out yet,
don’t you do it. Take it easy, Kid.”
And so Dave took it easy, lying in the bunk and listening to the creaks
and groans of the little craft and the rush and thud of the green seas
outside, and wondered soberly at the ways of Fate.