THE RESCUE
Kendall, clutching the cork-filled cushion, hesitated, but another
glance at the towering black shadow almost against them decided him.
Harry was already in the water. Gerald, poised on the combing, cried to
him again, and so, holding the cushion to his breast, Kendall leaped.
He felt the water close over him, heard its surge in his ears. Then,
fighting for breath, choked by the water he had swallowed, he found
himself afloat, buoyed up by the cushion. Instinctively he worked his
legs as he had seen swimmers do, striving to win out of the path of the
steamer. A voice called near at hand.
“Gerald! Kendall!”
Kendall tried to answer, but seemingly had no voice, and only succeeded
in choking and coughing. But Gerald, from somewhere in the fog, replied:
“Over here, Harry. Can you keep afloat? Where’s Kendall?”
This time Kendall managed to answer.
“I’m here. I’m all right. Did she hit us?”
“I don’t know. Find Kendall, Harry. He’s got a cushion that will keep
you up, too. Call again, Kendall.”
Then from a distance away, muffled by the fog, came a hail:
“Launch ahoy! Are you all right?”
“We’re in the water,” called Gerald. “Can’t see our launch.”
“What?” asked the voice, evidently through a megaphone.
Gerald repeated.
“Hold on then! We’re dropping a boat!”
The voice was fainter. Gerald swam out of the mist and made toward
Kendall, calling to Harry. Harry replied and in a moment joined the
others. “Take hold of the cushion,” Gerald panted. “It’ll hold you both
up.”
“Take hold yourself,” said Harry, struggling for breath. “I’m all
right. If I――didn’t have these shoes on――――”
“I think this will hold us all up,” said Kendall weakly. He eased away
from the cushion.
“Careful,” said Gerald. “Keep one arm over it. That’s it. Lay hold of a
corner, Harry, and rest a bit.”
“I will if you will,” said Harry stubbornly.
“All right.” Gerald took a grip on the cushion and Harry followed
suit, and although it sank a little it sustained them.
“They’re going to pick us up,” said Gerald. “All right, Kendall?”
“All right,” replied Kendall. But his teeth were chattering and he felt
a little faint.
“If I could get this old sweater off,” Harry was muttering when a hail
came across the water.
“Which way?” called a voice.
“Over here,” Gerald shouted loudly. Then they heard the creak of oars
in locks, and after a moment of suspense, during which Gerald shouted
again, a boat took shape in the grayness and came toward them. It was
manned by two sailors and a young man in uniform who stood in the bow.
“All right, kids,” he said cheerfully. “We’ll get you in. Pull around a
bit to starboard, men. Now then, one at a time, boys. Give me a hand.”
The young officer had made his way to the stern of the small boat while
talking and now leaned over toward the group in the water as the rowers
backed the boat nearer.
“You first, Kendall,” Gerald directed. Kendall stretched forth an arm
and the young officer seized his wrist and in a moment he was squirming
across the gunwale. Once inside he subsided between two seats and
closed his eyes dizzily. When he opened them again Gerald and Harry
were out of the water and the officer was asking Gerald if he wanted to
pick up the cushion.
“Never mind it, thanks,” answered Gerald. “I guess the launch is gone,
anyway.”
“No, we passed it back there and I guess we can find it again all
right. Give way, men.”
“Then you didn’t strike it?” asked Gerald in surprise.
“Just grazed it, I guess. The lookout saw you and we sheered off in
time not to sink you. You fellows take my advice and keep off the water
in weather like this.”
The steamer sent a blast of her whistle and the rowers altered their
course a little.
“We were trying to get home when the fog closed in on us,” replied
Gerald.
“I see. Well, what do you want us to do with you? Put you aboard your
launch or take you with us? We can’t tow that boat of yours, of course,
but she’ll be picked up sooner or later, I guess. We’re bound for New
Haven.”
“There she is, sir,” announced one of the sailors as the launch
appeared through the fog.
“Just put us aboard her, if you please,” said Gerald. “We’ll be all
right, thank you. It was very kind of you to pick us up.”
The officer laughed. He was a fine-looking chap of twenty-one or two,
bronzed and blue-eyed. “Well, we couldn’t do much less, I guess. Glad
things didn’t turn out any worse, boys. Live around here, do you?”
“Wissining,” answered Harry. “We go to school there; Yardley Hall, you
know.”
“What’s your boat, please?” asked Gerald.
“_Conomoit_, Captain Livingstone; Newport News.”
“And what line, sir?”
“Blue Cross Line. Say, you’re a bit particular, ain’t you, about who
pulls you out of the water? Or are you going to sue for damages?
Anything else you’d like to know?” And the officer’s blue eyes twinkled.
“I’d like to know your name, please,” replied Gerald, smiling.
“Oh, my name? My name’s Hallet, Second Officer.”
“Thank you,” answered Gerald. “We’re very much obliged to you.”
“You’re welcome. Say, that’s a fine looking little launch there. Glad
we didn’t rip her up, boys. Over with you, please.”
_The Dart_, apparently unscathed, although later Gerald found a long
smear of black paint along the side where the steamer had grazed, was
rocking quietly enough in the little oily waves as the sailors paddled
the rowboat alongside. Gerald had thrown the clutch out before he
jumped overboard, but the engine was still running. One by one the boys
climbed across to the wet, fog-drenched cockpit.
“Good luck,” called their rescuer. “Keep your whistle going. Give way,
men.”
The small boat disappeared into the fog, the crew of _The Dart_ waving
good-by. Then, “Harry, you and Kendall go down there and get your wet
clothes off,” said Gerald. “You’ll find towels in the bottom of the
right-hand locker. Rub yourself dry and put some blankets around you.
I’ll stay here and keep the horn going until you get fixed up.”
“What’s the matter with you doing it?” asked Harry. “You’re as wet as I
am.”
“You do as I say,” replied Gerald shortly. “I’m boss on this ship.
Hurry up now!”
Kendall’s teeth chattered so as he pulled and tugged at his wet
garments that Harry became alarmed and went to his assistance. But
when they had rubbed their bodies into a glow with the coarse bath
towels they felt rather better for their bath than worse. They took
Gerald’s place on deck and he disappeared to follow the same course
of treatment. The discarded clothing was wrung out and hung about to
dry if it would, and the three mariners, attired in gray blankets,
presented a ludicrous appearance.
“I hope no one will see us,” laughed Harry as Gerald joined them in the
cockpit. “We might be taken for the Flying Dutchman.”
“You look more like an Indian,” said Kendall. “What shall we do when we
get ashore? We can’t go up to school in these blankets!”
“We’ll get ashore first,” replied Gerald, “and decide that afterwards.
Have you heard the _Conomoit’s_ whistle lately?”
“Yes, a min――there it is now.”
Gerald stared into the fog, striving to locate exactly the direction of
the steamer. “Which way did that come from?” he asked puzzledly.
“Over there,” said Harry, pointing to port.
“Over there,” said Kendall, pointing over the bow.
Then the three looked at each other in dawning dismay. “I thought it
was more back there,” said Gerald doubtfully. “Let’s wait until we hear
it again.” But when it came again it was further away and might have
proceeded from almost any point at their right.
“That’s funny,” said Harry. “The last time it seemed more over there.”
“The launch has swung around, probably,” said Gerald. “Well, we’ll
have to make a try, anyway. There’s no use staying here and drifting
around the Sound.” He started the launch slowly ahead and turned her
nose toward where, in his belief, the Connecticut shore lay some mile
and a half away. Harry went back to the fog-horn and Kendall resumed
his position as lookout in the bow. Now and then a whistle sounded at
a distance in one direction or another, and once they heard the slow,
steady beat of a propeller through the enveloping mist, but no craft
came very near them, and _The Dart_, proceeding slowly and cautiously,
with Harry winding lugubrious wails of warning from the patent fog-horn
every half minute or so and Kendall straining his eyes into the gray
wall ahead, slid through the water. In spite of the fact that it seemed
quite probable that they might have to spend the night wandering around
the Sound, the three boys were in high spirits, due, doubtless, to the
reaction which usually follows a moment of peril, and chattered like
magpies. It was unanimously agreed that it would be quite unnecessary
to mention their misadventure to anyone.
“Toby would probably tell us to keep off the water,” said Harry. “And I
guess your father would have something to say, too, Gerald.”
Gerald smiled. “He probably would. It’s all over and I’ve learned my
lesson, which is keep on dry land when there’s a fog in sight. Kendall,
were you scared?”
Kendall hesitated a moment. Then, “Yes,” he answered quite honestly. “I
was. I wasn’t scared when I was in the water so much, but I certainly
hated to take that jump!”
“I don’t blame you,” said Harry. “It’s no fun when you can’t swim.
That’s something you’ll have to learn, Burtis.”
“I’m going to. I don’t believe it’ll be hard. I swam a little to-day.”
Harry laughed. “Of course you could with a cork cushion under your
chin. You’ll find it different when there’s nothing to hold you up.”
“Don’t discourage him,” said Gerald, smiling. “We’ll take him down
to the river some day, Harry, and put him through his stunts. See
anything, Kendall?”
“Nothing,” replied the lookout at the bow. “There’s a sound somewhere,
though.” They all listened. Then Harry gave a shout.
“It’s a train, Gerald. We must be getting near shore.”
“Yes. And I think I hear a bell. Do you?”
The others agreed that they did. “It’s a fog-bell on some ship,” said
Gerald. “Let’s make for it and maybe they can tell us where we are.”
He turned the bow of _The Dart_ a little more to starboard and they
ran slowly on, the _ding-dong_ of the unseen bell growing momentarily
louder.
Presently, “Why were you so anxious to find out the name of that
steamer?” asked Harry.
“I thought that perhaps it was one of Dad’s boats,” replied Gerald.
“Oh! And was it?”
“Yes, a Blue Cross boat. I’m going to send that chap something. He was
awfully decent to us.”
“Why not, seeing that he ran us down?” laughed Harry.
“I guess it was quite as much our fault as theirs. Yell if you see
anything, Kendall.”
“Not a thing yet, Gerald. That bell’s getting pretty near, though.”
“That’s what I think,” responded Gerald, peering ahead. “I wonder where
the dickens we are. It would be a joke on us if we found ourselves down
near New London somewhere. Perhaps that bell’s on some lighthouse,
fellows. Guess not, though; it doesn’t sound like it. Well, we’ll soon
find out. Hello――――”
“What?” asked Harry, working another groan from the horn.
“I thought I saw something ahead there, but it’s gone now. Did you see
anything, Kendall?”
“N-no, I don’t think so. Sometimes the fog sort of thickens and you
think you see things like shadows.”
And then the bell, which had not sounded for a minute, clanged again
and Gerald snatched at a lever, for it seemed almost at their bow. And
as _The Dart_ slid through the water silently, with diminishing speed,
something took shape in the fog ahead of them.
“Land!” exclaimed Harry.
“It’s a boat!” called Kendall. “Straight ahead of us, Gerald. You’d
better stop.”
Gerald reversed the propeller, _The Dart_ churned the water at her
stern and quivered as she began to back. By this time they could see
the amidship section of a white vessel. Gerald raised his voice as the
bell clanged its two notes once more.
“Ahoy there!”
“Ahoy!” answered a voice startlingly near.
“We’ve lost our bearings. How far is the shore?”
“About three hundred feet.”
“Oh! Well, where are we?”
“Pretty nigh off the mouth of the Wissining River. Where do you want to
get to?”
“Wissining River! Then――then what boat’s that?”
“Steam yacht _Princess_, New York, at anchor.”
“Why, that――――” began Harry excitedly.
“S-sh!” cautioned Gerald. Then, “Thank you,” he called to the invisible
informant. “We’re all right then.”
Very cautiously _The Dart_ circled away and made a detour of the
yacht’s bow. “I didn’t want him to see us,” said Gerald with a chuckle.
“He might have recognized the launch and told Dad some time. That was
Purdy, the steward. Keep your eyes peeled, Kendall, and watch for the
pier.”
A few minutes later _The Dart_ was snuggled up to the float, the lines
were made fast and the three boys were stumbling up the gangplank with
their blankets flapping around them and their wet clothing in their
arms. The fog seemed less heavy on shore, but it was still so thick
that they almost reached the house before they saw it. Gerald led the
way around to a side entrance, from which, treading softly and giggling
as they went, they climbed to Gerald’s room without being seen. One
after another they took possession of the bath-tub and then scrambled
for the dry clothing that Gerald provided. The garments didn’t fit very
well, but they answered the purpose. When a maid arrived in response to
Gerald’s ring she was sworn to silence and given the wet clothing.
“Put them where they’ll dry in a hurry,” said Gerald. “Has Father
returned yet?”
“No, sir. He telephoned he wouldn’t be home until to-morrow morning.”
Gerald gave a sigh of relief as the maid closed the door. “Of course
I’m sorry he’s not going to be here for supper,” he explained, “but
it might have been difficult to explain the costumes you fellows are
wearing. Harry, that coat looks as though you expected to grow a whole
lot in the next half hour!”
“Well, it may be a bit large,” allowed Harry, “but it’s some coat, just
the same. It’s a heap dressier than anything I own. What are we going
to do while those things dry, Gerald?”
“Anything you like. We’ll go down and have a fire in the library and
take it easy. You fellows will stay for supper, you know, and by the
time I’ve killed this appetite of mine your clothes will be ready, I
guess. Come on down.”
For an hour or more they sat in front of the fire and talked of a
hundred things, their voices growing drowsier and drowsier as time
passed. Then, just when Harry had begun to snore melodiously in his big
armchair, supper was announced. In spite of all the dinner they had
eaten their afternoon adventures had created fine new appetites, and
all three did full justice to the supper. By eight o’clock the clothes
were pronounced ready to wear again, and Harry and Kendall changed back
to their own garments. Half an hour later the three trudged back to
school by way of the village, Gerald having decided, since his father
was not to be at home that evening, to return with the others. They
parted from Harry at Whitson, after he had been again sworn to secrecy,
and, rather tired and very sleepy, crawled the two flights of stairs to
Number 28 Clarke. As Kendall lighted the light Gerald caught sight of a
card on the table and picked it up.
“What the dickens is this?” he said. “‘Charles Phillip Cotton!’ Now who
is he and why does he leave a visiting card?”
“He’s that chap who rooms with Wellington,” answered Kendall. “The
fellow they chased into my room that night. Don’t you remember?”
“Oh, that duffer? Well, what does he want here?”
“I――I told him I’d be glad to have him look me up. He――he doesn’t know
many fellows, and――――”
“Oh, I see.” Gerald crumpled up the card and tossed it into the waste
basket. “All right, but he must be a silly chump to leave a calling
card here. What does he think this is? Fifth Avenue?”
“If you’d rather he didn’t call――――” began Kendall.
“Not a bit of it. Maybe he’s better than he looks. You ask any fellows
you want, Kendall. Personally, I don’t think I’d ever get very fond of
Mr. Cotton, but if you like him it’s all right.”
“I don’t think I do――very much. Only he seemed kind of out of it, and I
thought if he came in here some time he might meet some of the fellows.
He’s out for the team, you know.”
“Not the football team?” asked Gerald, pausing in the middle of a yawn.
Kendall nodded. Gerald grinned and completed his yawn. Then, “Well,
he’s got plenty of cheek, hasn’t he? Fancy Mr. Cotton playing football!
If I wasn’t so sleepy, Kendall, I’d laugh!”
“And if I wasn’t so sleepy,” murmured Kendall, “I’d have a go at my
German.”
“Oh, hush,” said Gerald, crawling into bed with a long sigh of delight.
“Don’t mention study to a man――who’s just been――rescued――watery
grave――――”
Then he slept.