ADRIFT IN THE ATLANTIC.
"So thick you might cut it with a knife!"
Captain Darien, who had walked forward and joined the group of
Merriwell's friends, looked off into the wall of gloom as he said this.
The _Merry Seas_ was mournfully blowing her whistle, and others were
continually heard. The steamer was nearing New York harbor.
"Will you try to run in, captain?" Frank asked.
"Oh I think we can make it. I don't like to anchor out here all night. I
have a pretty good idea of just where we are."
"The fog may lift before night."
The captain looked at his watch, and saw that it indicated nearly three
o'clock.
"I'm afraid not. And likely it will be no better in the morning. I shall
try to go in."
A fog-siren somewhere on the invisible shore was sending out its
unearthly blasts. Then a whistle seemed to cut the gloom right ahead,
and a big black shape loomed through the murk. The _Merry Seas_ sounded
her warning, and the helm was jammed hard a-starboard. Another shriek
came from the phantom that had seemed to rise right out of the sea. With
that shriek, she also swung off.
"I thought we were in for a collision!" said Frank, breathing more
freely. "It will be a squeak as it is."
Elsie had nervously clutched him by the arm. All were moving back from
the dangerous vicinity toward the other rail.
"A tug!" said Bart, who was standing near Merriwell.
The tug, which was a large one, seemed now fairly on top of them. In
size, it was as large or larger than the _Merry Seas_. A collision of
the two vessels would be a serious thing.
"We're going to strike, or scrape!" Frank warned, taking Inza and Elsie
each by an arm. "Brace for it!"
Orders were being given, and the whistles were hoarsely blowing. Both
vessels were still falling off. Some one on the tug bellowed frantically
through a big trumpet.
"What was that?" Inza asked.
"Tows!" said Frank. "Something about tows!"
The tug and the steamer did not strike, though they grazed each other so
closely that a collision seemed unavoidable. Then there was more
bellowing through trumpets and more whistling, and Frank felt the _Merry
Seas_ tremble under him as her engines were reversed. He knew not what
to expect.
Crash!
The big tug, _Gladiator_, had a string of heavily laden barges in tow.
Into one of these barges, in spite of every effort to prevent it, the
bow of the _Merry Seas_ crashed with terrible force. It was as if a
horse should rush headlong against a stone wall.
The shock was terrific. Merriwell heard a sound of smashing timbers and
snapping iron. He was pitched violently from his feet as the bow of the
_Merry Seas_ was forced downward by the collision. He felt himself
flying through the air. Then he struck the water, and went down, down,
down!
But Frank did not lose consciousness. And as he came to the surface, he
supported himself by a gentle motion of his hands and feet, and tried to
look about. He knew how great was his peril. But his thoughts were not
wholly of himself. He thought of Inza and Elsie, of Hodge and his other
friends. What had befallen them? Had they, too, been hurled into the sea
by that awful shock? If so, there could be little doubt that some of
them, if not all, would be drowned.
He shouted for assistance, and heard a hoarse whistle not far away. He
could see nothing, for the fog was as impenetrable as a blanket He began
to swim toward the sound. He could not tell whether the whistle was that
of the tug or the _Merry Seas_ or of some other vessel. Again he sent up
a call for help. The water was cold and his clothing heavy. He was
thinking of trying to get out of his shoes and outer coat, when he heard
a human cry not far away.
"Help! help!" some one called.
"Help! help!" Frank shouted.
But instead of swimming on, he turned in the direction of the cry. It
indicated a human being in distress and peril, and he felt that he might
be able to save a life.
"Help!" came the cry again.
The voice was so choked and thick, and there was such a rush of water in
his ears that Merry could not tell much about it, yet it seemed
familiar. It was near at hand, too; and, sending back an answering call,
Frank swam straight toward it.
"Help!" was shouted, right at hand now, for the voice seemed to be
drifting toward him.
"Where are you?"
For answer, Merriwell received a heavy blow on the head and breast from
a piece of timber. He went under with a cry, his head ringing and his
senses reeling.
The next thing he knew, he was stretched out on some sort of raft, and
some one was holding him there by sheer force. His feet and legs were
trailing through the water. The whistle of the steamer or tug sounded
again, but farther away.
"Is that you, Merry? How are you feeling?"
It was a familiar voice, though thick and husky--the voice of Bart
Hodge.
It steadied Merriwell's reeling brain. He took hold of the boards and
sought to draw himself still higher on them.
"That you, Hodge?"
"Yes. I thought that was you, Merry. How are you?"
"Soaked. But I guess I am all right. Something hit me on the head and
shoulders, and I went under. I was swimming this way. Heard somebody
call."
"I called, and you were struck by this drift. I heard you, and felt the
shock when you struck. I reached out and got hold of you--and here you
are?"
"Yes, here--and where is that?"
"In the Atlantic, somewhere off New York. I doubt if the captain knew."
"What became of the rest of the crowd?"
"Don't know. That collision threw me clean over the rail. I fell near
these boards. I don't know but they came from the barge. When I came up,
I bumped against them, and then hung on and began to call for help."
There was a moment of silence. Both were listening. Whistles could be
heard here and there. Off to the left somewhere they fancied they heard
a voice calling, but whether it came from the deck of a vessel or from
some unfortunate in the water they could not determine. Near and far the
whistles of steamers and tugs were hoarsely bellowing.
"With so many vessels around, we ought to be picked up soon," said
Hodge.
"We would be, if any one could see anything. But a boat would have to
run right over us to find us. Hark! wasn't that rowlocks?"
Again they listened. The sound of oars was certainly heard.
Clug-clank, clug-clank, clug-clank.
"Let us call together," said Merry. "Now! As loud as you can."
Both shouted with all their might. For an instant they fancied the boat
was coming toward them, and they shouted again. But it was almost
impossible to determine the direction of sound. They could not
themselves be sure of the direction of the boat. The "clug-clank" grew
fainter and fainter.
"We're bound to be picked up soon," Merriwell cheerily declared. "We
must be right in the track of vessels. We'd be picked up right away if
it wasn't for this beastly fog."
Hodge was silent.
"What do you suppose has become of the others? They were right with us,
you know, when we went over!"
"I'm afraid to think about it," said Frank, with a shudder, which was
not caused by the chill of the water.
"I can't help thinking about it!"
"Nor I. But I'm hoping we were the only ones that went overboard. We
must try to believe that, Bart, until we cannot believe it any longer."
Hodge was silent.
"And as for ourselves!"
"Oh, I wasn't thinking of ourselves," said Bart. "We can hang on here a
good while, I think. I suppose we're being carried out to sea, though!"
"Not much doubt of that, I guess. But we've pulled through worse scrapes
together, Bart!"
"That's right, Merry! And we'll pull through this. Are you up high
enough on the boards? Let me help you! You can't be feeling very strong
after that blow."
Merriwell drew himself higher out of the water, and found that the heavy
board supported his weight.
"If only the fog would clear now! I hear a whistle away off there."
"Do you suppose the _Merry Seas_ was sunk?" Hodge asked.
"I sha'n't think so until I have to. I think the barge got much the
worst of it. The steamer seemed to cut it right in two."
"Perhaps we can get up higher on these boards."
"I've been thinking of that myself," Hodge answered.
The two friends had locked hands across the narrow space that separated
them. Now, by Merriwell first helping Bart and then Bart returning the
favor, they managed to get up higher out of the water, and were
gratified to find that the boards were sufficiently buoyant to sustain
them.
For fifteen or twenty minutes they had thus drifted on, talking and
conjecturing, listening at intervals, and now and then sending up a loud
call. The fog-siren on the shore was still screeching, and the whistles
of vessels were now and then heard. But about them was that impenetrable
gray wall of fog.
Having secured an easier position, Frank fumbled with his chilled
fingers for his watch, which he finally drew out. It was wet, of course,
but, to his surprise, was still merrily ticking away. By holding it near
his eyes the time could be told.
"About half an hour, I judge, since the collision."
"No more than that? Seems to me it has been a half a day."
Again there was silence.
"I should think a vessel would anchor, instead of trying to go on in
such a fog as this!" Bart snarled.
The memory of the disaster was beginning to make him bitter against the
captain.
"They do, usually. The captain thought he could make his way in, that is
all!"
"And I'm afraid some of our friends have gone to the bottom as a result
of it. We seem in a good way to investigate Davy Jones' locker
ourselves!"
"I'm going to believe that our friends are all right. It can't be
possible that both the tug and the steamer sank. The tug wasn't really
in the collision, you know. She would be able to take off every one from
the steamer, no doubt, even if the steamer was so injured that she could
not float. The thing I most fear is that some of them may have been
hurled overboard, just as we were, and were not lucky enough to find
anything to sustain them. But I shall not believe anything of the kind
as long as I can hope that it isn't so."
But for Merriwell, Hodge would have been very despondent, especially as
the long hours of the afternoon began to wear on and no boat came near
them, and their frequent cries seemed to remain unheard; but Frank's
hopefulness and cheerful optimism were not without good effect on the
mind of his friend, and they were even able at times to talk with some
degree of mental comfort.
Frank was sure that they were steadily drifting out to sea. He believed,
from the change in the apparent direction of the fog-siren, that they
were moving down the coast toward Sandy Hook. But they were evidently
floating farther out to sea, for the sounds of the siren were fainter
and farther away.
"I believe the fog is going to lighten."
Merriwell lifted himself and strained his eyes through the gloom. A
suggestion of a breeze had fanned him.
"If the wind gets up, the fog may be driven away," he said.
"And the wind will kick up a sea!" suggested Bart.
"But if the fog lifts, we will probably be seen by some vessel!"
There could be no doubt that a gentle breeze was beginning to blow.
"Sure enough, the fog is thinning!" Bart cried joyfully. "But I don't
hear any more whistles."
"Hark! there one sounded."
"Miles away!"
"Wait till the fog rises. Perhaps there are others."
Anxiously they watched the gray wall. The wind died away, and once or
twice it seemed that the fog was growing denser, instead of lightening.
But by and by the sunlight seemed to permeate it. It appeared to become
thinner. Then, like a great curtain uplifted, it for a little while
swung upward from the face of the heaving sea. All around were the green
rollers, rising and falling with an oily swell.
Hodge uttered an exclamation of gratification.
"Look!"
Merriwell looked in the direction indicated. Not a fourth of a mile away
a dingy fishing-sloop was bobbing along, with her dirty mainsail and jib
set, yet seeming to catch no breeze. Both Merry and Hodge forgot their
discomfort, forgot their chilled and benumbed condition, and, lifting
themselves as high as they could, shouted for assistance.
There must have been some breeze in the dingy sails, for the vessel was
moving athwart the line of their progress, and they were being carried
along by the tide.
"Shout again!" said Merriwell, and again they lifted their voices
together.
In another direction a steamer could be seen, but those on the steamer
evidently did not see the sufferers on the raft.
"I don't believe there is a soul on the sloop!" Bart declared, in a
despairing way.
"Well, if she keeps on her course, we'll get so near that perhaps we can
swim to her and climb on board."
But Bart was wrong. Hardly had he made the declaration, when a man
appeared on deck, accompanied by a shaggy dog.
Merriwell and Hodge renewed their cries to attract his attention. But
the man gave them absolutely no heed. Once they fancied that the dog
turned his nose in their direction.
"He don't want to see us," Bart growled. "We are near enough for him to
hear! I----"
His sentence was interrupted by a young lady who rushed suddenly on deck
from the "cuddy" or cabin. A scream issued from her lips as she
appeared, and immediately a second man came into view, from whom she
seemed to be fleeing.
"My God! Inza Burrage!"
Merriwell fairly shouted the words.
Inza did not see the raft and her friends. She appeared to see only the
shaggy-bearded fellow, who now stood grimly looking at her.
"She's going to jump overboard!" cried Hodge, so excited that he almost
fell off the raft.
Merriwell shouted with all his might. Inza turned and saw the raft. She
uttered another piercing cry, stretched out her hands, and seemed again
about to leap into the sea.
Instead of heeding the cry sent up by Merriwell, Inza's pursuer leaped
at her to prevent her from jumping over the rail; and, then, bearing her
in his strong arms, deliberately carried her back into the cuddy.
Merriwell and Hodge shouted, yelled, screamed. The one man on the deck
paid not the slightest attention to their cries.
"He refuses to hear us!" said Hodge.
The other man appeared, and they called again. One of the men went to
the tiller, and the course of the sloop was changed.
"They are going to pretend that they did not see us," Frank exclaimed.
"Hold to the raft, Hodge! Stay by it!"
"What are you going to do?" Hodge demanded.
"I'm going to swim to that sloop!"