Part 11

From the masthead of the _Sea-Horse_, Bahama Bill had seen the accident to the gig, and he was coming into the surf with a heavy boat, manned by a full crew of men who knew the reef. They watched him, and saw him pick up the survivors of the accident, one by one, and then row slowly in to where the rest of the yachting-party stood.

In a short time all were landed safely, and by the time they looked about them they were aware of the wrecking-sloop getting under way and running to leeward from her shelter. She rounded up to windward of the _Sayonara_, and dropped both anchors, paying out cable until she was close to the wreck. Then she signalled to the giant black, and he stood ready to take passengers aboard.

Dunn came forward and began to thank him for his heroism, but the black man looked over his head, and just the faintest flicker of a sneer seemed to show upon his ugly face.

"Yo' think I make a good cook, eh?" he asked, with a leer. "I don't believe yo' need no washin' done fer a day er two. Git inter that boat wid de rest, an' thank me fer takin' yo', yo' gin-drinkin', whiskey-swillin' good-fer-nothin' white man." And Dunn did as he was bidden.

Aboard the _Sea-Horse_ they were made as comfortable as possible. That afternoon, when the sea went down and the wind sank to a gentle breeze, the entire party were taken to the lighthouse in the pass, and arrangements were made to send them to Key West. The major was extremely cool and formal in his manner to all, but Mrs. Dunn cheered them the best she could.

Miss Marion Harsha paid some attention to Captain Smart, more than is usual to a yacht captain; but Smart appeared tired and unresponsive.

"You saved my life," said the girl indulgently, when they were alone at the lighthouse. "You saved me from a very disagreeable death--and I shall never be able to repay you. The major acted abominably. Won't you forget what I said at Key West?"

"Most certainly," said Smart, "but not what you meant. I was a fool--and paid the penalty. I'll go back to the liner to-morrow. There's a great difference between the way we've lived. It could never be forgotten. I forgive you with all my heart, and if you'll allow me, I'll kiss you good-bye."

The next day Smart and his owner--owner no longer, for his vessel was too badly wrecked to use again as a yacht--rowed out to get what personal belongings they wanted before starting for Key West. Upon the deck of the _Sayonara_ stood the giant mate of the _Sea-Horse_.

"What yo' want abo'd here?" asked the black man, as they came alongside.

"What d' you mean?" asked Dunn smartly.

"Well, this here wessel was abandoned--left by her crew--an' I be here to take charge," drawled the black. "Yo' cayn't take nothin' away from her without my permission. Ef yo' want to make a deal wid the skipper, he's abo'd de _Sea-Horse_. We generally claims two-third salvage. Yo' kin make de deal wid him--see?"

Dunn didn't see, but Smart finally convinced him of the truth. It was humiliating, but there was no help for it--it was the law.

"Right fine ship, cap'n," leered Bahama Bill to Smart, after things were settled; "seems a shame to have to wrack her. Wouldn't yo' like a job as cook till yo' git another berth?"

Later they towed her hull into Key West.

IX

The Survivor

"Light dead ahead and close aboard, sir," said the mate in a tone of anxiety, as he poked his streaming sou'wester down the companionway.

Captain Johnson was bending over his chart, his parallel ruler placed firmly on east by south. The droning roar of the gale overhead and the booming of the storm canvas and taut standing rigging made the officer's voice sound strangely expressionless. The slight nervousness evident in the lowness of the tone was the only thing that made the master look up.

The swinging lamp cast a strong light upon the articles of his room, and as he took up his sou'wester and tied the strings under his chin, he caught a momentary glimpse of a photograph pinned over his desk. The wild rolling and plunging of the ship caused him to brace himself for a moment, and he stood with legs apart, swaying, to keep his balance. The picture was of his wife and children; those for whom he toiled at sea, and he thought of them the moment he made ready to go on deck. He was only a moment getting ready, for he had kept on his rubber boots and coat, but in that moment his thoughts went to the home ashore. He loved those children, and he adored the woman who was their mother. They were all of his world ashore, and it was for that little world he worked and strove at sea.

In less than a minute after the mate had called he was on deck gazing through his night glasses at the light ahead. He was almost in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, and the light was bright, the headlight of some steamer. Her side lights had not yet appeared through the drift and spume of the gale, but the headlight was bright and it was not changing its bearings, which was the bad sign that had worried the mate.

Johnson knew he had the right of way. Every man who knows anything of the rules at sea knows the sailing ship has the right of way over a steamer, and Johnson knew he was hove-to under storm canvas and must not give way or change his course. For him to get out of the steamer's way would put the burden of blame for anything that might happen upon himself, for it might confuse the steamer, which would, of course, at the right time shift her course and go clear.

But the light ahead grew brighter, and the moments were flying like the gale. The light was right over the jibboom end when the ship fell downward into the sea. Then it would swing to leeward a little, and then as the next sea swung her head off it would appear on the weather bow. Yes, it bore almost dead ahead and it was not changing its bearings.

The mate was getting nervous.

"Shall we keep her off, sir?" he asked.

"No, hold your course," came the order.

Ten men of the watch on deck had their eyes upon the light. They gave it small attention, however, for they knew, of course, that the steamer would sheer clear of them. The watch below and the passengers were sleeping as well as the rolling and plunging of the vessel would permit, and they were concerned not at all with lights. Those below in a ship know nothing of the strenuous life of those on deck.

"I can see his red light, sir," came the voice of the mate, strained and hoarse with excitement, and raised to a loud cry.

But Johnson could see the green light also, and he saw they were equally distant on either side of and below the bright eye which was bearing down upon them. The vessel was now close aboard, and of a sudden he felt his heart give a great bound under his ribs.

"Hard up the wheel," he roared. "Hard up, hard up--quick," and as he roared out he sprang to the spanker sheet and cast it off, letting the sail go to leeward with a thundering thrashing. Sharp cries came from forward where the men on lookout saw the danger and passed the word aft. And then as he turned, Johnson saw the giant bulk of a liner showing dimly through the gloom of the stormy night. A hundred little lights showed in her upper works. He even saw a man on her forecastle head peering forward, and then the great black stem rose above him, and with a thundering crash and rushing roar it tore its way through his ship almost amidships.

For a moment which seemed an age, the great black side of the hull rose before his vision, grinding, smashing, tearing its irresistible way past. Then the great black demon of destruction drew away and faded into the gloom, leaving nothing but a boiling sea forward of where the mainmast had been. The next minute the wild sea of the Western Ocean closed over what had been a short time before a fine ship.

Johnson found himself facing a living hill which rose against the night sky. Above it a great comber roared and foamed down upon him as the top of the sea broke and fell downward along the slope. He was in the sea and the water was warm, warmer than the air had been when on deck. He had on his rubber boots and oilskins, and he wondered why he still floated. He had heard that men with boots on sank at once. He remembered this distinctly and he struck out strongly as the foaming crest of the comber swept over him and smothered him down into the blackness beneath. He kept struggling and his head came out into the night again. The wind swept over his face, driving the foam and spume so that he could not see or breathe, but he knew he was still upon the surface of the sea. He turned his back toward it and managed to get a little breath. Then, half blinded and strangling with the brine, he struck out again.

It suddenly occurred to him that the steamer would stop and try to pick up the wrecked crew, but then he knew it would be impossible to lower a boat that night, and the masters of liners seldom stopped for anything. Transatlantic express steamers hardly ever stopped in good weather for a man overboard in daylight. Never unless they could see him distinctly upon the surface. If those upon the steamer could not see a four-masted schooner under storm canvas with her lights burning brightly, they would hardly hope to see a floating man who could not be seen ten fathoms distant by the sharpest eyes in that wind and sea. He tried to raise himself to see if the hull of the vessel was still in view, or if she were burning lights, but not even a Coston flare was visible. There was nothing save the desolate storm-lashed sea.

He had kicked off his rubber boots in a few moments, as they were dragging him down, and being a powerful man he struggled steadily to rid himself of his oilskins. Death had not made his appearance yet. He could not come upon a strong man so quickly while that man had his powers still left him to fight with. The very thought of the ending made him exert more power and a sudden realization of his position caused him to tear off his coat in a frantic effort. The faces of those he had left at home came before his half-blinded vision. He knew he was facing almost certain death, and that it would come quickly if no one picked him up. He was apparently alone in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, and the steamer had kept on her course after completing the destruction of his ship. The rest of his crew must also have gone overboard. There were twenty-five souls all told, and he cursed the men of the steamer who had caused their sudden end. It had been vile carelessness. It had been more than brutal disregard for life. Their callousness amazed him, and he had been to sea many years and knew its heartlessness.

What would his family do without him? He could see their amazed and terrified looks when the news would be brought to them. His poor wife who adored him and whose only thought had been for him and the little ones. No, he could not die. No, no, by God, he would not die. He shook the water from his face and dashed it out of his eyes with his hand, and raised his head again for a look. The snoring roar of a comber sounded near, but even as he noted it he thought he heard the surging wash of something floating heavily in the sea. He knew there might be pieces of wreck about him. It was a chance and he flung himself high out of the water to see. The next instant the bursting wave fell over him and bore him down again into the blackness below. It seemed a long time it held him down, and he was exhausted when he got his head out again and drew in a mixture of water and air. A few more heavy seas and he would be very weak. The knowledge of it caused a terror within him. His heart began to beat rapidly. The end was really approaching in spite of his struggles. He was beginning to realize it, to realize that death could win after all.

But the thought of those ashore still steadied him. He must do his utmost. Had he been alone in the world the futility of his exertions would have been instantly apparent. He would have made a slight, ordinary effort, the effort of the animal who instinctively fears death, but his reason would have quickly told him that the sooner he went under the better it would be for him. He would have died like the twenty-five souls who had been in his care half an hour before. But he, no, he could not go, he would swim on, and on, and on.

He had been in the water half an hour now and he saw nothing but the house where his family lived. The sun was shining bright and the grass was green near the front gate. His wife stood upon the front steps and smiled at him. He reached toward her, but she seemed to recede and smile at him, leading him on, and on, and on.

He was still swimming but did not know it. His breath had gone to little choking gasps which hardly reached his half-filled lungs. His jaws were working spasmodically, clinching under the strain and opening to gasp out the briny mixture which he was forced to breathe. But always before his vision, before his blinded eyes, was that picture of his home. The whirling, choking blackness around him seemed to close in upon him. He stopped time and again to drive the drowning spray and spume from his face. He was drowning. The wind and sea were too heavy for a man to face for any length of time. The great combing crests of the seas swept over him, and it was only by that dogged, persistent effort to reach the vision before him that he managed to keep himself upon the surface after the smothering foam held him under. Once he seemed to realize his hopeless surroundings and raised himself out to the shoulders to try to see. He happened to be upon the lee slope of a hill of water and he got a momentary glimpse of the turmoil about him. All around was the gloom of the night, lit here and there by the white flashes of foam. It dawned upon his fading senses that he had reached the limit, he was going under, there was no hope.

Like the lamp that flares up before it dies, the flame of his life rose again in one more desperate resolve. He would keep on fighting, he would not go.

The pitiful futility of his struggle roused his expiring senses to a strange fury. He struck out fiercely, driving himself ahead before the wind and raising himself with each stroke. He sank into the hollow of a great sea, the slopes on either hand raised high above him and he was in a sheltered spot for a second. The surging wash of some heavy floating thing again came to his half-filled ears, and as he rose upon the crest he made a mighty effort. He raised himself and shook the water from his face. Right alongside of him lay a black object outlined by a white fringe of foam which now and then showed phosphorescent flares. He had been swimming now for more than fifty minutes.

With failing brain and cramping muscles he strove for it, swimming, striking, reaching, the last expiring effort of a dying man who dies hard in the full powers of his manhood. His headway through the water was almost nothing. He was not a good swimmer. Few sailors can swim at all. A sea hurled him close to the object, and another swept him clear out of sight of it. Then one drove him against it heavily and he clutched frantically for a hand-hold.

When he set his fingers upon an edge about three feet above the surface he hung and rested. His senses were failing and he fought instinctively. Something within him seemed to tell him that he must get upon that object, that he must get clear of the water about him, and he rested before making the effort which must decide his fate. It was a high lift for an exhausted man and he set his strength slowly and persistently, hauling steadily with all his remaining energy. He managed to get his face level with the edge, but here he stopped. His head wobbled weakly with the surge of the sea. His eyes were closed and his jaws set. The sunshine seemed to play upon the green grass before him and the form of his wife stood beckoning. He sank an inch lower. A sea washed over him and he was slipping slowly back as it went past. He gave a choking cry, a strangling groan of despair and slipped down again into the sea just as a hand reached over the edge and closed upon his shirt collar.

The sun was shining and the wind-swept sea presented a beautiful aspect the following morning. The water broke over the lower edge of the deck-house upon which he lay, but only reached to his feet, foaming down the slant until it made a whirlpool in a mass of line which floated in a tangle. A line about his waist was made fast to a ring-bolt near him, and sitting alongside of him, with his head thrust forward peering out over the sea, was Garfunkle, his second mate.

An exclamation and their eyes met. Johnson raised himself to a sitting posture, though the pain in his cramped limbs made him groan.

"The forrad house, eh?" he said.

"Yessir," said the mate.

"You saved me?"

"Yessir, I just heard your call in time. You were done for, but were right within a foot of me. It was dark."

"No one else but us two?" asked the captain.

"All gone, sir, and it looks like we are going. There won't be another ship this way in a week. That was the West India liner, _Hammersea_, from Kingston to Liverpool, who ran us down. I saw the name on one of her boats that was torn off her. It was smashed up and floating close aboard us an hour ago."

"To run a man down is carelessness, but to leave him afterwards is murder," said Johnson with bitterness.

They were about six hundred miles from the Bahamas and to the eastward of the Stream. The water was warm and blue and the sea was going down. The easterly weather was dying out and the semi-tropical warmth was taking its place. Near them several dark objects showed now and again upon the slopes of the seas, and they knew they must be débris from the sunken ship.

Johnson had probably not swam over twenty fathoms in the whole desperate endeavour he had made the night before. The darkness had prevented him from making any definite course and he had swum with the drift of the house. Garfunkle had been swept overboard with the wreck of the mainmast; the stem of the steamer had torn its way through the forward house, knocking it overboard. It was the only thing that had floated clear, for the spars were all stayed with steel rigging and the lanyards of the lee rigging had held against the shock although the mainmast had been driven out of her. The great spar had been dragged down with the sinking ship, but the house had floated clear and was resting upon its side. In the open doorway they could see clothes and sea-chests which had remained in the forecastle and which had not been washed out with the force of the sea.

They were weak and exhausted from the night of effort, but they went to work at a chest and dragged it through the door and upon the slanting side of the house. It sent the float down a good foot in the sea, but they persisted in the hope of finding something of value. The chest was almost empty. It contained a few clothes, a Bible and a large revolver, the cartridges still intact within the chambers. Johnson stuck the weapon in his waist-band, and his mate placed the Bible and clothes clear of the sea. Then he kicked the chest adrift. It floated off, setting high upon the water and looking absurdly out of place.

"Nothing to eat--nothing to drink--looks pretty bad," said Garfunkle.

Johnson made no comment. He was grateful that he was still alive, and being a sailor he felt that it was a long way between that floating deck-house and drowning. He would get ashore again soon enough, and would not let his wife or children know how near he had come to passing. It would be simply a money loss. He had owned several shares in the schooner, and she had been a fine ship, paying twenty per cent., but he would get another and go on as before. If he ever caught up with the pilot of that steamer, he would see that the fellow gave an account of himself. His cargo had been insured fully, and the underwriters would make things hot for the rascal who had so ruthlessly run him down.

The first day passed without incident of importance. The pangs of hunger were beginning to be felt keenly by both men upon the float. Johnson was cheerful but Garfunkle was pessimistic and grumbled continually. He stood up every now and then to scan the horizon, but nothing broke the evenness of the dark blue rim.

The second day it was hot and calm. Both men took off their clothes and cooled themselves in the sea until a huge shadow rising alongside made them hasten up the slanting side of their float. A great tiger shark rose at the edge of the house, and taking a shove, sent his broad nose up the slanting side until it almost touched their feet. Then he slid back again into the sea and swam slowly around the house, coming back again to the side that sloped into the water for another effort to get his prey. The men were more amused than frightened at his attempts. Garfunkle stripped a plank off the edge where it had been shattered, and at the monster's third effort he drove the ragged sharpened point deep into its eye. He floundered back into the sea and remained motionless some ten fathoms distant upon the surface. A smaller denizen of the same species came up and tried the same method, but he was rapped sharply over the head and he kept away. But as the darkness came on, the men realized that they must not relax their vigilance, for the hungry fish made other attempts to get them.

The morning of the third day Garfunkle was delirious. He raved about water and stood up oftener to scan the sea. Johnson was very weak, but kept his senses. He noticed a floating object near at hand and soon made out the sunken small boat torn from the steamer's side. As the morning wore on it drifted nearer and finally came alongside. He grasped the painter and managed to get the mate to give him a hand. Together they managed to drag the boat's bow up the slope of the float, and they saw that the plank at the stem just below the water-line had been smashed in. Weakened as he was, Johnson determined to patch it and accordingly set to work. By placing a piece of the house planking on the outside and lashing it fast with the line, he managed to get the leak stopped sufficiently to allow the bailing of the craft. Then by getting into the stern, they kept the leak clear of the sea and the boat was safe enough. Searching through the locker aft, where the food for emergency was kept, they came upon the case of biscuit, water-soaked, to be sure, but still in partly solid shape. They ate some and felt better for a time, but their thirst was aggravated. The small water-breaker usually kept in lifeboats was missing. Under the thwarts was a sail, and one oar was still fast in her bottom. Johnson cut the lashings and drew the gear out. It would be of service to them for a rudder.

The hunger pains had died away by the fourth day, but their thirst was terrible. A man may go for days upon water alone, but without it he can last only a short time under a warm sun. By keeping their bodies wet they eased themselves a little, but not much. The absorption through the skin was insufficient to do them much good. Time and again, they seemed to see a ship bearing down upon them and one or the other would cry out, but after a while they desisted. The sea was a heaving plain as far as the sight could reach, unbroken by a single object. The deep blue turned to a deeper steel-gray nearer the horizon in the calm, meeting the almost cloudless sky in a haze. There was no wind, but they must get away. To remain any longer on the house was to invite a terrible death. It might be the same thing in the boat, but they would at least feel that they were going somewhere, getting nearer to help and water.