THE RESCUE
As the practised eye of the admiral had seen, the tiny yacht was too
near the rocks to go about and escape them. She was caught in the
trough of the sea before she had gathered way on the other tack, and
flung upon the sunken ledge, broadside on. The mast snapped like a
pipe-stem. After a few violent shocks she was hurled over on her beam
ends, lodged securely on the rocks, and began to break up under the
beating of the angry sea. A few moments and she would be beaten to
pieces. The man was still there, however, the water breaking over him.
He seemed to have been hurt, but clung tenaciously to the wreck of the
boat until he recovered himself a little, and then rose slowly and
stood gazing upon the tossing waters, seething and whirling about the
wreck of his boat.
There was, during high winds, a dangerous whirlpool right in front of
the reefs and extending between them and the smooth waters of the
harbor. The water was beating over the rocks and fairly boiling before
him. A man could not swim through it; could, indeed, scarcely enter it
and live--even a boat would find it difficult, if not impossible.
Things looked black to the shipwrecked man. He stood in hopeless
hesitation, doom reaching for him on either hand. He could neither go
nor stay with safety. Yet he apparently made up his mind at last to go
and die, if need be, struggling.
"Don't try the whirlpool, boy," said the admiral softly to himself, as
he looked down upon the scene. "You could never make it in this sea.
Say a prayer, lad; 'tis all that is left you. By heaven! A noble girl,
my own child! And a brave oar, too! Steady, Barry, steady! Don't come
too near! Your skiff can't live in such a sea. Merciful God! can they
do it?" continued the veteran, as the light skiff shot out from the
lee of the Point and, with Barry at the oars and Emily at the helm,
cautiously made its way toward the whirlpool.
The instant they got out from the lee of the Point the full force of
the storm struck them, although they were still within the shelter of
the harbor. But they struggled through it, for a stronger pair of arms
never pulled oars and more skilful hands than those on that little
skiff never guided a boat. Barry's strokes were as steady and powerful
as if he had been a steam propeller, and not even the admiral himself
could have steered the boat with greater dexterity than did the girl.
The man on the wrecked cutter saw them when the admiral did. Evidently
he was a sailor, too, for he knew exactly what they intended to do.
The two on the boat brought the skiff as near the rocks where the
wreck of the cutter lay as they dared,--they were almost in the
whirlpool, in fact,--and then Emily, gathering the yoke-lines in her
left hand, with the other signalled him to jump. Nodding his head, he
leaped far out over the whirling waves toward the boat. It was his
only chance.
"A gallant lad, a brave boy!" exclaimed the admiral, as he saw the man
spring from the wreck. "I believe they'll save him yet. No, by
heavens! he's struck on one of the reefs! Is he gone? He rises! He's
in the whirlpool! He strikes out feebly; the waves go over his head!
No, he rises again! They have him! Well done, Emily; well pulled,
Barry!"
Taking a desperate chance, the girl, seeing that the man was
practically helpless, for he was swimming feebly and apparently
scarcely able to keep his head up, boldly sheered the boat into the
whirlpool and then turned her about. The man, retaining his
self-possession, seized the stern with his uninjured hand. Emily
leaned down and caught him by the coat collar, and then Barry pulled
his strongest to escape from the twisting grip of the little
maelstrom.
[Illustration: The girl boldly sheered the boat into the whirlpool]
Emily steered the boat with one hand and with the other held on to the
stranger. It was, of course, impossible to get him into the boat.
Presently he fainted and hung a dead weight on her arm. The admiral
watched them, praying fervently for their success. It was a terrible
pull for the old sailor and a terrible strain on the young woman.
Again and again she thought she would have to release the man dragging
astern. Her arm was almost jerked from her body, yet she held on with
grim determination, steering the boat as best she could with her
single hand.
Barry pulled until the sweat beaded his forehead. His muscles stood
out like whipcords. For a few moments he feared that he could not do
it; but he looked at the resolute figure in the stern-sheets, the girl
he loved, and that nerved his arms. Presently--and it seemed hours to
both--he got the boat out of the whirlpool and into the comparatively
smooth water under the lee of the Point. After a few weary strokes the
keel grated upon the shore.
The sailor stepped out, made fast the painter, waded back to where the
man lay in the water, lifted him up with the assistance of Emily, and
slowly made his way up the hill, carrying him in his arms.