Late on a gloomy evening Jimmy and his friends sat down for a few
minutes' rest on the beach of a lonely island on the northern coast.
With the help of Jaques they had fitted out the sloop, and had sailed
much earlier in the year than was prudent, fearing that Clay might
arrive ahead of them. The voyage proved trying, for they spent days hove
to while the sloop was blown to leeward by bitter gales, and they were
now and then forced to run off their course for shelter. Still, they
stubbornly fought their way north. The strong breeze that Clay's
schooner-yacht had met badly buffeted the smaller boat. In driving her
to windward through a steep head-sea the heavy strain upon the shrouds
started a leak under her channel plates, and after a long spell of
steady pumping the men reluctantly decided to seek a sheltered harbor,
where the damage could be repaired.
This had not proved a difficult task, for some caulking was all that was
required, but in order to reach the leak they had to lay her on the
beach, and Jimmy thought it a desirable opportunity for filling up the
water-breakers. Taking them ashore in the dory, they carried the small
craft up; and after getting the water they set out for a walk across the
island, because the sloop would not float until nearly high tide. The
island was barren except for a few clumps of stunted trees, but they
enjoyed the ramble, and were now feeling tired by the unusual exercise,
as well as hungry, because they had not troubled about taking any lunch.
Picking a sheltered spot, Bethune lighted his pipe and languidly looked
about. Dingy clouds were driving across the island, and the leaden water
broke with an angry splash among the stones. There had been a light
breeze from seaward when they went ashore, but it had changed, and now
blew moderately fresh off the land. It was very cold, with a rawness
that penetrated. Bethune shivered.
"We ought to be getting on board," he said; "but I wish we had a paid
crew to carry down the breakers and row us off. And I'd enjoy my supper
better if I didn't have to cook it myself. It's curious how luxurious
tastes stick to you."
"If you'd been a lobster fisher, you wouldn't have had any," Moran
remarked.
"I expect that's true," Bethune laughed. "No doubt it depends on the way
one is brought up; but you don't often surprise us with these
reflections. Anyway, I can't help thinking of our opponent sitting at
the saloon table on board his yacht with a smart steward waiting to
bring him what he wants, while we squat over our tin plates in the
cubby-hole with our knees against the centerboard trunk and our heads
among the beams. It's a painful contrast."
"The sooner you finish moralizing and make a move, the sooner we'll get
supper," Jimmy reminded him.
"I wish it was Hank's turn, only that one doesn't have much pleasure in
eating the stuff he cooks. Still, it will be a comfort to work with the
stove upright, and not to have to hold the things on. That's why I was
waiting until the tide lifted her."
"She's afloat now," said Moran.
Bethune, looking up, saw that this was correct, for the sloop's mast
began to move across the rocks in the background. Then there was a
rattle of chain, and she drifted faster.
"Taking up the slack of her cable," said Jimmy. "We'd better get on
board. I didn't give her much scope because I wanted to keep her off the
stones."
"Wait until I've smoked my pipe out," Bethune said lazily; and they sat
still for a few minutes.
The sloop brought up, sheering to and fro in the eddying gusts. When
Moran turned to look at her he jumped up with an exclamation.
"She's off again!"
They watched her mast, and saw a gap open between it and a boulder. It
was obvious that she was moving out to sea.
"The wind has changed since we left!" exclaimed Jimmy. "When she swung,
she got a turn of her cable round the anchor-fluke and pulled it up."
"We'd better run for the dory!" Bethune cried, setting off along the
shore.
"No use!" Jimmy called after him. "There isn't time." He jerked off his
heavy sea-boots as he added: "She's dragging her cable along the bottom
now, but it won't check her long."
The others saw that he was right. The water got deeper suddenly below
the half-tide line, and when the boat had picked up her anchor her
progress would be rapid.
"It's too cold for swimming, and you can't catch her!" Bethune
expostulated breathlessly.
"I must do the best I can," said Jimmy, flinging off his jacket and
plunging into the water.
They left him and ran along the beach, stumbling among the stones. It
was some distance to the dory, and darkness was coming on. The _Cetacea_
would drift to leeward fast, and they feared that she would be out of
sight before they could begin the chase, but they might be in time to
pick up their exhausted comrade. There was no doubt that he soon would
become exhausted, because the water was icy cold, and a short, troubled
swell worked into the bay. Besides this, the horror of their position
lent them speed. It looked as if they would be left without food or
shelter from the inclement weather on the desolate island. They had not
even a line to catch fish with, and Bethune remembered that he had only
three or four loose matches in his pocket.
He fell into a hollow between two boulders, hurting his leg, but was up
again in a moment, making the best speed he could, with Moran clattering
among the rocks a yard or two behind. Fortunately, the tide was almost
up to the dory when they reached her. Thrusting her off they jumped on
board and rowed with savage determination, pulling an oar each. The
light craft lifted her bows and leaped forward in time to their powerful
strokes, but a steeper swell was working in against the wind as the tide
rose, and the long undulations checked her. Though the air was keen, the
sweat dripped from the men as they rowed with throbbing hearts and
labored breath, turning their heads for a glance forward every now and
then.
They could not see their comrade, but that was hardly to be expected: a
man's head is a small object to distinguish at a distance in broken
water. The _Cetacea_, however, was still visible, and she did not seem
to be much farther offshore. It was possible that Jimmy had got on
board, and that they might overtake her before she felt the full force
of the wind. The hope put fresh heart into them, and they strained every
muscle to drive the dory faster across the irregular heave.
When Jimmy plunged into the icy water he gasped as it closed about him.
The cold took away his breath and paralyzed his limbs, and he let his
feet fall with an unreasoning desire to scramble out again. This,
however, lasted only for a moment; before he could touch bottom he
overcame the impulse, and, throwing his left hand forward, struck out
vigorously. His was not a complex character, and his normal frame of
mind was practical rather than imaginative, but he had been endowed with
certain Spartan virtues. Moreover, he had learned in the sailing ships
that what is needful must be done, no matter how the flesh may shrink.
Now, though he could not think collectively, he knew that it was his
business to overtake the sloop. He could swim better than either of his
comrades, and he set about his task with the unreflecting stubbornness
that generally characterized him when an effort must be made. His mind
was fixed on his object, and not on the risk he ran.
After the first half-minute the shock began to pass, and he suffered
less, but he dully realized that he was making very poor progress. His
clothing hampered him, the swell flung him back, the only thing in his
favor was that the ripples the wind made ran behind him instead of
splashing in his face. He swam with a powerful overhand stroke, but he
knew that the _Cetacea_ would drift at double his speed unless he could
catch her while she was still in shallow water. When he swung up with
the swell she was clearly in sight, but he could not judge whether he
was gaining. She was still an alarming distance off, and moving away,
but he hoped that the cable might check her, as it trailed along the
uneven bottom.
But as the moments passed Jimmy began to despair of reaching her. The
cold was sapping his vitality, his legs were getting cramped, and his
breath was failing; but he turned upon his breast and swam on. He must
hold out until his strength was spent; besides, he could not make the
beach if he turned back. For a while he could not see the boat: his eyes
were full of water, for the swell, which was getting steeper,
occasionally broke over his head. Indeed, he hardly cared to look and
contemplate the distance still to be covered. At last, however, when he
stopped for a moment and raised his head, hope crept into his heart. The
_Cetacea_ was much nearer than he had expected. He must make a last,
determined effort.
She had swung round, beam to wind, when he feebly clutched her rail
amidships. For a few moments he held on; he had now to solve the
difficulty of getting on board. As she drifted, his body trailed out
away from her, and he could not get his knees against the planking. Even
if he were able to do so, he had not the strength to lift himself on
deck; and there was no rope hanging over that he could seize. Then he
thought of the wire bobstay that ran down from the end of the bowsprit
and was fastened to the stem near the waterline. He must try to reach it
and climb on that way. He cautiously moved his hands along the rail; for
if they slipped off, he might not be able to get hold again.
Foot by foot he worked forward, and, stopping for some moments, tried to
get up by the shrouds. He slipped back with only three fingers on the
rail, and the risk he had run of letting go altogether unnerved him. He
waited until he recovered, and then dragged himself forward, moving one
hand over the other a few inches at a time. This was more difficult now,
because as the boat's sheerline rose sharply at the bows he was higher
out of the water and there was a greater weight on his arms; but at last
he clutched the bowsprit and hung on by it, splashing feebly as he felt
for the wire stay with his feet. Now that he was almost in safety,
terror seized him. He found the wire, slid his foot along it, and
lifting himself to the bowsprit fell forward, limp and inert, on deck.
He lay there for a minute, and then with an effort roused himself,
realizing that if he remained much longer he would perish of exhaustion
and cold.
Staggering aft, he entered the cabin, and pulled off his clothes. There
was no liquor on board, but he found some garments which were not very
damp, and after trying to rub himself he put them on and munched a
ship's biscuit while he did so. Feeling somewhat better after this, he
went up on deck, for he must get in the cable and hoist some canvas, in
order to gain control of the boat, which was fast driving out to sea.
When he seized the chain he realized how greatly the swim had exhausted
him. It was a heavy cable, but he had often hauled a long scope of it in
when the anchor was holding and he had the boat's resistance to
overcome. Now, however, he was beaten when he had laboriously pulled up
a fathom or two. Trying again, he raised a few feet, and then had hard
work to secure the chain round the bits.
He sat down to rest a minute, and looked about for the dory. He made her
out indistinctly, but she seemed a long distance off, and as the breeze
was freshening he did not know whether she could overtake the sloop. By
setting some canvas he could pick her up, and the foresail would not be
hard to hoist; but the _Cetacea_ would not sail to windward with the
heavy cable hanging from her bows. Jimmy remembered that there was a
good length of it below; indeed, there might be scope enough to allow
him to drop several fathoms on the bottom. The weight of this would act
as a drag, and might, perhaps, bring her up. It depended on the depth of
water.
He let the chain run, and watched it anxiously as it rattled out of the
pipe. For a time it showed no sign of stopping, and then he felt a
thrill as the harsh clanking slackened. The lower end had found bottom;
but the vessel would soon lift a fathom or two, and he could not tell
whether she would stop. The links ran slowly forward in a slanting line,
and Jimmy saw by the absence of any splashing at the bows that she was
still adrift. Then the rattle of the cable recommenced, which showed at
least that there was more below, and she slowly stopped. In a few
moments he felt her tug and strain, and white ripples broke angrily
against the planking. She had either stopped or was drifting very
slowly. Standing up on the cabin top, he waved his jacket that his
comrades in the dory might see he was on board, and then went below out
of the bitter wind. He could do no more.
It was some time later when the dory struck the side, and Moran
clambered on board and entered the cabin. Jimmy could not see his face,
but his gruff voice had an unusual tone.
"That was a mighty good swim, partner," he said. "I was scared you
wouldn't make it."
"So was I," smiled Jimmy. "I was too dead beat to heave the cable when I
got on board."
"Of course," Moran agreed sympathetically. "Now you lie off and leave
things to us."
Then Bethune came down and let his hand rest for a moment on Jimmy's
shoulder.
"Thanks, old man! Neither Hank nor I could have reached her."
They were none of them sentimentalists, and Jimmy felt that enough had
been said.
"I'm a bit worried about my thick jacket and sea-boots," he replied.
"You see, I'll need them."
"That's so," said Moran. "As soon as we've got sail on her, we'll pull
back and look."
Jimmy protested. They were tired and hungry, and it would be a hard row
to the beach against the rising breeze, but Moran laughed, and Bethune
told him to sit still when he would have gone up to help them. He
lighted the stove, and when they called him the reefed mainsail was
banging overhead, and Bethune was in the dory, while Moran, kneeling
under the jib, freed a coil of chain from the fluke of the anchor.
"I guess that's what made the trouble," he said. "We won't be long, and
when you have made two or three tacks you can show a light."
He jumped into the dory, and it disappeared into the dark, while Jimmy
drove the sloop ahead, close-hauled, until he dimly made out the
boulders on a point. Then he came round and stretched along-shore on the
other tack, until he left the helm for a few moments and lighted a
lantern. Soon after he had done so he heard a shout and when he hove the
boat to there was a splash of oars. Then the dory emerged from the gloom
and Moran, seizing the rail, threw a jacket and pair of long boots on
deck.
"Got them all right. They were a fathom from the tide; the beach is
pretty steep."
"I must have had the sense to throw them well back, though I can't
remember it," Jimmy answered with a laugh.
"We're going to have a better supper than I thought we would get not
long ago," Bethune remarked as he lifted the dory in; and Jimmy gave the
helm to Moran and went below to help in preparing the meal.