Just a capful of wind, and Dan shook loose the linen, and a straight
shining streak with specks of foam shot after us. The mast bent like
eel-grass, and our keel was half out of the water. Faith belied her name,
and clung to the sides with her ten finger-nails; but as for me, I liked
it.
“Take the stick, Georgie,” said Dan, suddenly, his cheeks white. “Head
her up the wind. Steady. Sight the figure-head on Pearson’s loft. Here’s
too much sail for a frigate.”
But before the words were well uttered, the mast doubled up and coiled
like a whip-lash, there was a report like the crack of doom, and half of
the thing crashed short over the bows, dragging the heavy sail in the
waves.
Then there came a great laugh of thunder close above, and the black cloud
dropped like a curtain round us: the squall had broken.
“Cut it off, Dan! quick!” I cried.
“Let it alone,” said he, snapping together his jack-knife; “it’s as good
as a best bower-anchor. Now I’ll take the tiller, Georgie. Strong little
hand,” said he, bending so that I didn’t see his face. “And lucky it’s
good as strong. It’s saved us all. My God, Georgie! where’s Faith?”
I turned. There was no Faith in the boat. We both sprang to our feet, and
so the tiller swung round and threw us broadside to the wind, and between
the dragging mast and the centre-board drowning seemed too good for us.
“You’ll have to cut it off,” I cried again; but he had already ripped
half through the canvas, and was casting it loose.
At length he gave his arm a toss. With the next moment, I never shall
forget the look of horror that froze Dan’s face.
“I’ve thrown her off!” he exclaimed,——“I’ve thrown her off!”
He reached his whole length over the boat, I ran to his side, and perhaps
our motion impelled it, or perhaps some unseen hand; for he caught at an
end of rope, drew it in a second, let go and clutched at a handful of
the sail, and then I saw how it had twisted round and swept poor little
Faith over, and she had swung there in it, like a dead butterfly in a
chrysalis. The lightnings were slipping down into the water like blades
of fire everywhere around us, with short, sharp volleys of thunder, and
the waves were more than I ever rode this side of the bar before or
since, and we took in water every time our hearts beat; but we never once
thought of our own danger while we bent to pull dear little Faith out of
hers; and that done, Dan broke into a great hearty fit of crying that I’m
sure he’d no need to be ashamed of. But it didn’t last long; he just up
and dashed off the tears and set himself at work again, while I was down
on the floor rubbing Faith. There she lay like a broken lily, with no
life in her little white face, and no breath, and maybe a pulse and maybe
not. I couldn’t hear a word Dan said, for the wind; and the rain was
pouring through us. I saw him take out the oars, but I knew they’d do no
good in such a chop, even if they didn’t break; and pretty soon he found
it so, for he drew them in and began to untie the anchor-rope and wind it
round his waist. I sprang to him.
“What are you doing, Dan?” I exclaimed.
“I can swim, at least,” he answered.
“And tow us?——a mile? You know you can’t! It’s madness!”
“I must try. Little Faith will die, if we don’t get ashore.”
“She’s dead now, Dan.”
“What! No, no, she isn’t. Faith isn’t dead. But we must get ashore.”
“Dan,” I cried, clinging to his arm, “Faith’s only one. But if you die
so,——and you will!——I shall die too.”
“You?”
“Yes; because, if it hadn’t been for me, you wouldn’t have been here at
all.”
“And is that all the reason?” he asked, still at work.
“Reason enough,” said I.
“Not quite,” said he.
“Dan,——for my sake——”
“I can’t, Georgie. Don’t ask me. I mustn’t——” And here he stopped short,
with the coil of rope in his hand, and fixed me with his eye, and his
look was terrible,——“_we_ mustn’t let Faith die.”
“Well,” I said, “try it, if you dare; and as true as there’s a Lord in
heaven, I’ll cut the rope!”
He hesitated, for he saw I was resolute; and I would, I declare I would
have done it; for, do you know, at the moment, I hated the little dead
thing in the bottom of the boat there.
Just then there came a streak of sunshine through the gloom where we’d
been plunging between wind and water, and then a patch of blue sky, and
the great cloud went blowing down river. Dan threw away the rope and took
out the oars again.
“Give me one, Dan,” said I; but he shook his head. “O Dan, because I’m so
sorry!”
“See to her, then,——fetch Faith to,” he replied, not looking at me, and
making up with great sturdy pulls.
So I busied myself, though I couldn’t do a bit of good. The instant we
touched bottom, Dan snatched her, sprang through the water and up the
landing. I stayed behind; as the boat recoiled, pushed in a little,
fastened the anchor and threw it over, and then followed.
Our house was next the landing, and there Dan had carried Faith; and
when I reached it, a great fire was roaring up the chimney, and the
teakettle hung over it, and he was rubbing Faith’s feet hard enough to
strike sparks. I couldn’t understand exactly what made Dan so fiercely
earnest, for I thought I knew just how he felt about Faith; but suddenly,
when nothing seemed to answer, and he stood up and our eyes met, I saw
such a haggard, conscience-stricken face that it all rushed over me. But
now we had done what we could, and then I felt all at once as if every
moment that I effected nothing was drawing out murder. Something flashed
by the window, I tore out of the house and threw up my arms, I don’t know
whether I screamed or not, but I caught the doctor’s eye, and he jumped
from his gig and followed me in. We had a siege of it. But at length,
with hot blankets, and hot water, and hot brandy dribbled down her
throat, a little pulse began to play upon Faith’s temple, and a little
pink to beat up and down her cheek, and she opened her pretty dark eyes
and lifted herself and wrung the water out of her braids; then she sank
back.
“Faith! Faith! speak to me!” said Dan, close in her ear. “Don’t you know
me?”
“Go away,” she said hoarsely, pushing his face with her flat wet palm.
“You let the sail take me over and drown me, while you kissed Georgie’s
hand.”