ADRIFT ON THE PACIFIC
The sea had been the natural element of Dave Fearless since his earliest
childhood. In the stress of his present predicament, however, he felt
that he was in the most critical situation of his life.
A great wave received him as he went overboard. A second swept over it,
ingulfing him for a full half-minute, and he was battling desperately
with the vortex caused in part by the storm, in part by the
swiftly-moving steamer.
As the youth emerged into less furious elements, his first thought was
of the _Swallow_. He dashed the water from his eyes with one hand and
strained his sight.
"It's no use," he spoke. "She'll be out of reach in two minutes."
Dave did not try to shout. It would have done him no good, he realized.
As he was lifted up on the crest of wave after wave, the vague spark of
light that designated the _Swallow_ grew fainter and farther away.
Finally it was shut out from view altogether.
The water was buoyant, and aided by his expertness as a swimmer Dave did
not sink at all, and found little difficulty in keeping afloat. But how
long could this state of things last? he asked himself.
There was not the least possible hope of any aid from the _Swallow_. He
had gone overboard unseen by any person except Gerstein.
"He will tell no one," reflected Dave. "In the first place it would be
dangerous for him to do so, for they would suspect treachery on his
part. In the next place he is probably glad to get rid of me. Unless
Bob or father look into my stateroom, I shall not be missed before
morning. By that time----"
Dave halted all conjecture there. The present was too vital to waste in
idle surmises. He planned to use all the skill and endurance he
possessed to keep afloat. He might do this for some hours, he
calculated, unless the waves grew much rougher.
"It's a hard-looking prospect," Dave told himself, as he began to feel
severely the strain of his situation. "Adrift on the Pacific! How far
from land? As I know, the _Swallow's_ course was out of the regular
ocean track. The chances of ever seeing father and the others again are
very slim."
Something slightly grazed Dave's arm as he concluded this rather
mournful soliloquy. He grabbed out at the touch of the foreign object,
but missed it. Then a second like object floated against his chest.
This the lad seized.
It proved to be a piece of wood, part of a dead tree, about three inches
in diameter and two feet long. Dave retained the fragment, although
scarcely with the idea of using it as a float.
To his surprise these fragments, some large, some small, continued to
pass him. In fact, he seemed in a sort of wave-channel, which caught
and confined them, forming a species of tidal trough.
One piece was of quite formidable size. Dave threw his arms over it with
a good deal of satisfaction, for it sustained his weight perfectly.
"Queer how I happened right into their midst. Where do they come from,
anyhow?" reflected Dave. "Is it a hopeful sign of land?"
There was a lull in the tempest finally, but the darkness still hung
over all the sea like a pall. Dave longed for daybreak. The discovery
of the driftwood had given him a good deal of courage and hope.
For over eight hours Dave rocked and drifted, at the mere caprice of the
waves. Wearied, faint, and thirsty, he tried to cheer himself thinking
of the possibility of land near at hand.
Daylight broke at last, but a dense haze like a fog hung over the waters
for an hour before the sun cleared it away. Eagerly Dave scanned in
turn each point of the compass. A great sigh of disappointment escaped
his lips.
"No land in sight," he said; "just the blank, unbroken ocean."
His plight was a dispiriting one. Dave felt that unless succor came in
some shape or other, and that, too, very soon, his chances of ever
seeing home and friends again were indeed remote.
He noted the widespread mass of driftwood with friendly eyes, for it
broke the monotony of the green expanse that tired the sight with its
illimitable continuity.
"There's a pretty big piece of driftwood," Dave said, looking quite a
distance towards a larger object than he had yet seen. It rose and fell
with the swaying of the wave. "If I could find a few such pieces I
might construct a raft."
Dave began to swim off in the direction of the object in the distance.
A great cry of joy escaped his lips as he neared it.
"It is not a log," he shouted rapturously, "but a boat. A small yawl.
Oh, dear, but I am thankful!"
In his urgency to reach the boat Dave let go of the piece of driftwood
that had served him so well. His eyes grew bright and he forgot all his
discomfort and suffering.
With a kind of cheer Dave lifted himself over the side of the little
yawl. It was flimsy, dirty, and old. The prow was splintered, one of
the seats was broken out, but Dave sank down into the craft with a
luxurious sense of relief and delight.
There were no oars, but Dave did not think much of that. He had
something under him to sustain him. That was the main thing for the
present.
"I can make rude oars of some of the driftwood and the front seat," he
calculated. "If it rains I shall have water, and there are clouds
coming up fast in the west now. I may catch some fish. What's in
there, I wonder," and Dave pulled open the door of the little locker.
"Hurrah!" he shouted this time, utterly unable to control his intense
satisfaction. Lying in the locker was a rudely made reed basket. In
this were two bottles. Dave speedily assured himself that they held
water, warm and brackish, but far from unwelcome to the taste.
About twenty hardtack cakes and a chunk of cheese completed the contents
of the basket.
"I never ate such a meal before," jubilated Dave, having satisfied his
hunger and carefully repacked the supplies. He paused to read a part of
a label pasted across the front of one of the bottles of water. "This
came from the _Raven_."
Dave had a right to think this. At one time the bottle had held some
kind of table sauce. Written under the label were the words "Captain's
table, _Raven_."
"The boat, too, must have belonged to the _Raven_" said Dave, "although
I don't know that surely. It looks as if some one of Captain Nesik's
crew had put to sea in this yawl, and was probably lost in the storms of
the last week."
A great rain came up about an hour later. There was not much wind.
Following the rain a dense mist shut out sea and sky.
Dave could only drift at the will of the waves. He had it in mind to
construct some kind of oars, but he did not know the distance or even
the direction of land.
The day grew well on into the afternoon. Dave had removed the door of
the locker. He had also gathered into the boat the longest pieces of
driftwood he could find. Fortunately he had discovered in the locker
several pieces of fine tarred rope, which would prove a great help in
making the oars. He was laying out his work when a curious flapping
noise made him look up. He sprang to his feet. Pouncing down upon him
were four immense birds. They were not eagles, but fully twice as large
as any eagle he had ever seen.
They attacked Dave in unison. One clawed into his left arm while
another gave him a severe blow with one of its wings, swooped down upon
the exposed reed basket, seized it, and flew away with it. Dave
snatched up a piece of driftwood.
He shouted to frighten the birds, swinging his weapon among them
vigorously. One he disabled and it fell into the water and floated out
of sight, the other two he finally beat off.
The loss of the provision basket troubled Dave severely. He sank
breathless into the boat, his face and hands badly scratched and
bleeding.
The next instant, to the infinite surprise of Dave Fearless, a gruff
voice sounded through the mist:
"Ahoy there! What's the rumpus?"