A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE
LESLIE WARD was the first to pull himself together, for the sudden
shock had temporarily numbed the senses of his companion and himself.
The partial recovery of the stricken ketch gave him an opportunity of
grasping Guy by the wrist and dragging him to the foot of the
companion ladder. By this time the surging water was up to their
knees.
"Up with you, old man!" he shouted. "You're not hurt?"
"Don't think so!" gasped Guy breathlessly, for in falling he had
tripped across some article of furniture and been winded. "You go
first!"
Leslie demurred. Even in the moment of peril each lad seemed inclined
to enter into a discussion as to who should precede the other. The
gradually rising water settled the argument, and, seized by a
temporary panic, the pair scuttled through the companion and gained
the deck.
It was still pitch dark. The fog was as "thick as pea soup."
Somewhere, although the ship was completely invisible from the deck
of the waterlogged craft, could be heard the hiss of escaping steam,
the churning of the propeller, and the shouts of the now excited crew
of the tramp.
The _Laughing Lassie's_ bows by this time were under water. Her stern
was tilted a few feet above the surface, while from the taffrail the
inboard end of her nets could just be distinguished.
Leslie realised the new danger. Even if the two lads could swim clear
of the doomed ketch, there was a great risk of being caught by the
drift of nets, and, once enmeshed, being carried in them to the
bottom by the disappearing vessel.
He remembered having seen during the day that a lifebuoy was resting
upon the flat top of the cabin skylight. It had vanished, having been
knocked overboard by the tremendous impact. There were two others,
lashed to the mizzen shrouds. The cords that bound them were jammed
by the action of the moisture and refused to be untied.
Even as Leslie fumbled desperately with the resisting knots, the
_Laughing Lassie_ quivered, then in a turmoil of foam and escaping
air, slid entirely beneath the surface. Foam, sea, and fog seemed
blended into a horrible chaos as Leslie found himself struggling in
the water. Although a good swimmer, he was frantic, for the bight of
a rope held him entangled. More by chance than design, his efforts to
free himself from the rope were successful, only to be quickly
followed by a worse predicament.
Already he was about five or six feet below the surface. As he struck
out to regain the air, his head came in contact with the ratlines of
the mizzen shrouds. It was like being caught in a huge net.
Instinctively he struggled to force his way between the shrouds, but
in vain. The _Laughing Lassie_, sinking deeper every moment, was
again dragging him down beneath the surface.
Suddenly a swirl of water, caused by the release of a considerable
amount of air trapped in the sinking ship, swept him clear of the
shrouds. Dimly he realised that he was free, and feebly he again
struck out for the surface.
He could hold his breath no longer. A rush of salt water poured down
his throat. At first it irritated him greatly, then the distressing
symptoms gave place to a strange and unnatural calm. A thousand
incidents of his comparatively short life flashed across his mind.
Then everything became blank.
Meanwhile Guy had been more fortunate. Swept apart from his companion
as the _Laughing Lassie_ made her final plunge, he found himself
swimming for dear life. He had no idea of direction.
His immediate danger lay in the fact that momentarily fragments of
wood, casks, and fish "trunks" came bobbing to the surface with
terrific violence. Had one of the objects struck him from underneath,
the force of the blow would have either killed him outright or
deprived him of breath, in which case he would have failed to keep
himself afloat.
A few strokes took him out of that particular danger zone, then,
realising that he ought not to tire himself by swimming, he made for
a large, empty box. Just as he was on the point of grasping it, the
box disappeared from view.
In the faint light he became aware of a rush of some ill-defined
object through the water. It was the line of corks supporting the
drift nets. A few feet nearer and Guy would have been entangled in
the meshes and dragged in the track of the sinking vessel.
In spite of his saturated clothing and boots, Guy swam strongly,
until, satisfied that another danger had been avoided, he trod water
and began to look for another means of support. Then, and only then,
he missed his chum.
"Leslie!" he called, as loudly as his well-nigh breathless condition
would allow.
He listened intently. There was no reply. In the distance he could
detect the rapidly receding thud of the propeller of the vessel which
had been the cause of the calamity. For some strange reason it seemed
that the tramp was making off.
"The callous brutes!" he murmured.
As a matter of fact, it was ignorance, not callousness on the part of
the crew of the colliding vessel. Not a man could speak English, and
by the time Skipper Runswick contrived to make anyone understand that
two of the _Laughing Lassie's_ crew were missing, the tramp had lost
her bearings in the fog.
For a long time she circled slowly, hoping to find the floating
débris from the sunken ketch, but owing to the darkness and the
fog her efforts were in vain. Each complete circle took her well
clear of her objective, until, coming to the conclusion that there
were no more survivors, her master steadied her on her course for a
distant Norwegian port.
Presently Guy saw a barrel floating close to him. This he made for,
but the curved surface afforded no grip. After wasting valuable
strength in a vain attempt to secure a place of refuge, he gave the
barrel up in despair. For some minutes he swam, looking for other
flotsam. By this time débris seemed very scarce. He wondered whether
he were swimming farther and farther away from the spot where the
ketch had disappeared.
Again and again he shouted, but in vain. His staying powers, though
good, were being severely taxed. Unless a means of support were
speedily forthcoming, his chances of rescue would be rendered still
more remote.
Then it occurred to him to get rid of his coat, sweater, and boots.
Thanks to previous experience of how to do this--at Guy's school
fancy swimming was a favourite pastime--the lad contrived to untie
the laces and kick off his boots. The coat was quickly thrown off.
Relieved of these incumbrances, Guy struck out once more. Unknowingly
he had been swimming in a vast circular direction, and gradually he
was again approaching the scene of the disaster.
Suddenly, when hope seemed on the point of dying, he saw a white
object a few feet ahead of him. It was the cabin skylight of the
_Laughing Lassie_. The copper bolts which held it to the deck beams
had corroded badly, and when the ketch sank the pressure of the
confined air had caused the fastenings to give way, and had blown the
skylight to the surface.
It was waterlogged, and floating bottom upwards. The plate glass,
firmly set in fixed frames and protective iron bars, was still
intact; but, owing to the heaviness of the teak and its fittings,
there was very little buoyancy.
As Guy grasped the upturned edge, the skylight tilted and dipped. The
lad took advantage of this to allow himself to float over the
submerged side, then as the skylight resumed its former position of
flotation he felt his feet touch the roof.
For the time being he was safe, and, unless cold, and exhaustion
gained the upper hand, he stood a fair chance of being picked up when
daylight came.
As he crouched on his frail shelter, with the water up to his neck,
he began to wonder what had become of Leslie. Not for one moment did
he entertain the idea that his chum had perished. No doubt he had
managed to be picked up by the colliding steamer.
"It's getting beastly cold," murmured Guy, after a while. "I wonder
if I could get rid of some of this water."
The sea was fairly calm. There was a slight swell, but no crested
waves. If he could increase the freeboard of the water-logged
skylight, so much the better.
He groped with his hands below the surface. The panes, he discovered,
were intact. Cautiously treading over the roof, he also found that
none of the planks appeared to be strained.
He began to bale with his palms, somewhat dubiously at first; but as
the edge of the skylight began to rise higher out of the water he
worked with renewed energy. The effort began to tell upon his cramped
arms. Warmth and a sense of feeling began to take possession of him
as he baled. In a quarter of an hour the level of the water inside
the upturned skylight was several inches lower than that of the sea.
All at once Guy stopped and looked as if unable to credit his senses.
Dawn was breaking, and with it the fog was lifting considerably. Less
than twenty yards from him was something that looked like a human
body floating well on the surface. The body was floating on its back
with the head turned away, but it was Leslie right enough.
Guy shouted. He heard no reply, but there was a distinct movement of
Leslie's head.
"It might be the lift of the waves," thought Guy. "I'll have to get
to him somehow."
His first impulse was to leap from his place of refuge and swim to
his chum's aid; but that meant destroying the added buoyancy of the
skylight. Waterlogged, it would support one person, but certainly not
two. Baled as it now was, it would afford shelter for perhaps three
or four.
For want of a paddle, Guy leant cautiously over the edge, and,
dipping his hand, used it to propel the unwieldy skylight. His
progress was slow, but by dint of paddling with one hand over each of
two adjacent sides, Guy found that he was able to approach his
luckless chum.
Tormented with the thought that perhaps Leslie was dead, Guy
struggled frantically. As he drew near, he saw the reason why Leslie
remained afloat. When the skylight had been wrenched from the deck it
released several of the buoyant contents of the cabin. Amongst them
was one of the hair mattresses of the bunk. As it came to the surface
it rose immediately underneath Leslie's unconscious body, and sagging
in the centre and rising at each end, it formed a lifebuoy, and at
the same time prevented the lad from rolling off.
But already the horsehair was becoming saturated with water; its
reserve of buoyancy was quickly vanishing. Another few minutes and it
would fail to maintain the good work it had hitherto done.
A few more strokes brought Guy within arm's length of his friend. He
grasped him by the shoulder and turned his head.
Leslie's face was deathly pale. His eyes were closed, and his mouth
open. Whether there was any life left in him, Guy could not say.
His next act was to get Leslie into the skylight. It was a manoeuvre
that called for both skill and strength, for the stability of the
impromptu refuge was none too great, while Leslie's inert body and
saturated clothes were astonishingly heavy.
Guy managed the task at the cost of an additional amount of water
which poured over the sill of the skylight.
A hurried examination revealed the fact that Leslie was still alive.
Another problem confronted the rescuer. Ought he to bale out the
remaining quantity of water or at once proceed to revive the
unconscious lad?
At first he decided upon the latter course, but on propping Leslie in
one corner of the skylight he found that the erratic motion caused
him to slide inertly into he water on the floor. Setting to work, Guy
soon disposed of the water, and again turned his attention to his
patient.
A quarter of an hour later Leslie opened his eyes and gazed dully
around him.
"Hullo!" he exclaimed feebly. "What's up? Ah, I remember--but where
am I?"
"All right," said Guy consolingly. "We'll be picked up before very
long."
An hour passed. By this time the warmth of the sun began to make
itself felt, and the two youths were able to discard their sodden
clothing and spread it out to dry.
The fog had disappeared. Only a slight haze obscured the horizon. The
sea was calm, and almost as smooth as glass, only a sullen swell
remaining to remind them hat they were far out to sea, and not upon
some landlocked estuary or lake.
"I could do with something to drink," remarked Leslie, who, rapidly
recovering from the effects of his immersion, was beginning to feel a
burning thirst from the salt water he had swallowed.
"So could I," agreed Guy. "I wish I hadn't tackled the skipper's salt
pork. That's what has done it."
"In your case--perhaps," was the rejoinder. "I feel as if I had
swallowed quarts of salt water. What's that?"
He pointed to a slender, pole-like object bobbing up and down about
fifty yards from their unwieldy craft.
Without replying, Guy cautiously got astride one side of the
skylight, then slipped gently into the sea. Swimming strongly, he
quickly gained the floating pole and returned with it in triumph.
"It's a boathook," he announced. "The metal head is keeping it in a
vertical position. We'll tie a shirt to it and hoist it as a signal
of distress. It will be more likely to attract attention."
During the morning the smoke of several distant steamers could be
discerned. Once a large barque tacked and stood in within a couple of
miles of the wreckage, but the lads' signal of distress escaped
notice, for the sailing vessel went about, filled, and stood away on
the other tack.
During the afternoon no sail was sighted. The heat was most
oppressive, for the sunlight was so strong that it shimmered in rolls
of vapour upon the surface of the sea. There was every prospect of
another fog as soon as night fell.
Both lads were now feeling the effects of prolonged hunger and
thirst. Their throats began to ache, and their tongues to swell to
such an extent as to render breathing a matter of difficulty. Talking
was almost out of the question.
"See anything?" asked Leslie after a long interval.
"No."
"If we are not sighted pretty soon, it will be a rotten business for
us."
"We've only had a few hours of it. Men have been known to exist on
rafts for days without food."
"Shouldn't have thought that the North Sea was so deserted," remarked
Leslie.
"Something will come our way," rejoined his companion cheerfully.
"You take a nap; I'll watch for a bit."
By this time the interior of the skylight was quite dry, for the
small quantity of sea water that Guy had left after ceasing his
baling operations had evaporated under the rays of the sun, while the
swelling of the wood completely closed the seams and effectively
prevented the ingress of any more water.
"Jolly rummy sort of boat this," said Leslie drowsily as he coiled
himself up in the bottom of the skylight and saw through one of the
panes of glass the level of the sea several inches above his head.
Guy made no reply. He was eagerly scanning the horizon.
"There's a vessel, I think!" he exclaimed after a while.
"Where?" asked Leslie drowsily.
"There, coming straight towards us!" declared Guy.
"Bothered if I can see any ship."
"You can't? You must be as blind as a bat. I can see her sails
easily."
Leslie again looked in the direction indicated. He could see nothing
but the blurred blending of the sea and sky. Then a sudden fear
flashed across his mind. Perhaps his companion's brain was affected
by the heat and exposure.
"No doubt you are right, old man," he said. "I'm afraid I can't see
it now; but when it comes a bit closer let me know."
Leslie was fully alert by this time. Sitting down and propping his
shoulder against one side of the skylight, he narrowly watched his
chum.
A couple of minutes passed, then Guy gave vent an exclamation of
disappointment.
"I can't see the vessel now!" he declared. "She couldn't have
disappeared. But everything is turning a funny colour."
Leslie looked into his companion's eyes. The "whites" were bloodshot.
"You've got a touch of sunstroke, I'm afraid," he said, as calmly as
possible. "Look here, let's both go to sleep for a few hours. Should
any vessel come within a mile or so of us, they'll spot our signal of
distress."
Guy required no persuasion. He was already on the point of collapse.
Five minutes later both lads were in a deep slumber, drifting
aimlessly and unconsciously upon the surface of the North Sea.