CHAPTER XXIII

THE FIGHT TO BRING BELLE BACK

It had really been Belle’s white, motionless face that had floated by. She had been in the boat Dave saw shattered by the shell.

Nor did Darrin once lose sight of her as he struck out fiercely until, when he was within fifteen feet of his goal, Belle sank without cry or voluntary movement.

Darrin made a great lunge forward and dived. He was seeking her, desperately!

Behind came that other swimming figure.

So true had been the aim of Darrin’s lunging leap forward, that now, as he went deeper, one of his hands touched her. He seized Belle and shot up to the surface.

“A hand right here, sir!” sounded the cheery, enthusiastic voice of Boatswain’s Mate Runkle. “Let me help you, sir.”

Of a truth Dave was in need of help. His emotion had spent him more than the mere physical effort had done. He felt limp, weak, but the infection of Runkle’s cheerful, cool tone made Dave once more master of himself.

“Take it easy, sir,” advised the boatswain’s mate. “They’re lowering a boat.”

“Can you see the boat?”

“No, sir.”

“Hear it?”

“No, sir.”

“Then how do you know—”

“I know an American man-o’-war’s crew, sir. They wouldn’t be doing anything else. All we have to do, sir, is to keep her afloat. I’ll stake my soul on that, sir.”

And then Dave did see a boat come into view, and heard the sturdy splash of oars—heard the coxwain’s brisk orders.

So weak was Dave that he almost wished to clasp Belle to him that they might sink together and be at rest. To take her from the water only to lay her in a grave on shore—what did it really matter after all? And for himself—what?

“Stand by, bowman there!” rapped out the coxwain’s voice, as the small boat shot along under rapid headway. “The boat-hook! The woman first!”

Deftly the hook was caught in Belle’s soaked garments.

“And now the skipper!” called Runkle, who had transferred his support to Dave Darrin. “As for me, stand clear! I’ll pull myself aboard.”

Other boats came out from the destroyer. These, with the numerous boats from the sunken liner and a number of rafts that dotted the water, all had to be collected. The “Grigsby’s” whistle broke hoarsely on the air, calling them in.

The boat that carried Darrin and Belle was the first to reach the destroyer. Dave bore his wife up over the side.

“I shall take her to my quarters,” he informed Lieutenant Fernald. “See that the surgeon is sent there at once. Runkle, you are all right?”

“Never more so, sir,” replied the boatswain’s mate.

“Go below and put on dry clothing.”

Dave staggered along with his precious burden into his own quarters, which he never used on a patrolling cruise. He laid Belle tenderly on his bunk and called up the bridge.

“Mr. Fernald, are the passengers from the ‘Griswold’ being taken aboard?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Any women among them?”

“Several, sir.”

“Some that do not require attention themselves and can lend a hand here?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then will you find two who will volunteer to come here, and ask them to do so immediately?”

“At once, sir.”

By the time that Darrin had hung up the instrument, Hunter, the ship’s medical officer, had reached the doorway. He came in and bent over the figure on the berth.

“Not a chance,” he said, briefly. “Drowned. But I do not believe, Darrin, that she suffered. There was a shock—”

“Shock?” Dave Darrin repeated. “Yes—a shell exploded in her boat.”

“I do not believe she was wounded,” went on Hunter. “It must have been the shock. She probably collapsed from the force of the explosion, and the water did the rest.”

A messenger knocked at the doorway, then introduced two middle-aged women, who stepped inside promptly.

“You will do something, of course, Hunter?” Dave queried. “You will attempt resuscitation—you will try to revive her?”

“I’ll try, of course,” replied the medical man, dubiously. “Yes. I will work like a fiend, Darrin. Sometimes a spark of life lingers. But do not hope!”

“I shall be in the corridor outside,” Dave answered quietly. “Call me when—”

Dry-eyed, but utterly haggard, Darrin stepped out into the passageway. He couldn’t quite believe what had happened—didn’t, in fact. It must be a dream, but soon there would be an awakening!

To his dazed mind the time did not seem long. Inside, he could hear low-voiced directions, and once he heard Hunter say:

“That much water off her lungs, anyway. My guess was right. She must have swallowed a good deal.”

Then he heard Hunter using the telephone. Not long afterward a hospital man came hurrying from the sick-bay with two bags, and vanished into the cabin with them, coming out at once.

Another interval, and then Darrin was called into his cabin. In the meantime, with the help of his steward, he had changed his own clothes.

“Any hope?” he asked, in a low voice.

“There’s a barest trace of pulse,” the ship’s surgeon replied, “but I do not believe it will last. I’m sorry. I’m doing everything that can possibly be done.”

“I’m sure you are, Hunter,” Dave replied.

Belle, whom the women had disrobed and rubbed, was now covered with blankets. One of the women, with a hand under the blankets, was applying a battery current.

Dave stepped forward, taking a long look at the white face and the closed eyes. Not even his hopes could conjure up the belief that a spark of life remained that could be fanned into renewed existence.

Still it was not real! Belle’s spirit had not flown and left him. Hunter, eyeing his commanding officer for an instant, read his mind; he understood and felt a great surge of sympathy for Darrin.

“Poor chap!” murmured the medico. “It will be all the harder when he really does come to himself!”

A glance downward at his uniform reminded Dave that he was still an officer, that hundreds of people had been close to death, that some undoubtedly had perished, and that he could not neglect his sworn duties.

Stepping to the telephone that connected with the bridge, he heard himself answered by the voice of his executive officer.

“Am I needed, Fernald?” he asked.

“No, sir. We’re still taking the rescued on board, but there is nothing you could do that is not being done by the rest of us. Any good news with you, sir?”

“Not yet, but there will be,” Dave answered. “Thank you.”

Then he glanced back toward the berth, to see that Dr. Hunter had prepared some liquid medicine that he was now trying to force between Belle’s lips. He stepped over beside the berth and watched.

“There! She’ll soon speak to us,” Dave declared, as he saw Belle’s eyelids flutter almost imperceptibly, and heard the faintest kind of a sigh.

Hunter, who knew that Life and Death were fighting, with Death going strong, did not reply, but stood with eyes fixed on the patient’s face. He did not look for her to become conscious enough to speak.

Two or three minutes dragged miserably by. The surgeon dreaded to pronounce the words which he felt must soon be said. One of the women was still applying the battery current, the other chafing Belle’s left wrist and arm. Hunter placed his stethoscope to her chest and listened, his face wholly grave.

There was another faint flutter of the lids, another faint sigh.

“You’ll soon speak to me, won’t you, Belle?” Dave urged, quietly, but in that silent cabin his every word was distinct.

“Shall I apply the battery to another part of the body, Doctor?” asked one of the women after a few minutes.

“One part will do as well as another,” Hunter answered, in a very low voice. The woman understood, but she said no word, gave no sign, but went on with her task.

“Come, Belle,” spoke Dave, now with an effort at cheeriness of tone, “we’re losing a lot of time, little girl.”

This time there was a somewhat more pronounced fluttering of the lids. Then came a sigh that sounded like a catching of the breath.

“Say!” murmured Hunter, in the awe of a new discovery. “That’s the thing to do, Darrin! Go on talking to her. I believe that she knows, that your voice reaches her subconsciously. Talk, man, talk! But easily.”

So Darrin, with a hand resting with a feather’s weight on Belle’s pallid forehead, went on speaking. It made little difference what he said, but every word was cheery, tender.

At last there came a longer flutter, a quicker, deeper sigh. Belle fought with her eyelids, then parted them, gazing vacantly until she saw Darrin’s bronzed face.

“All right now, Belle, aren’t you?” he called to her. “An all-right little girl again?”

“Dave—my—lad!”

The whisper came so low that only Darrin heard it. But Hunter lost nothing of the scene. His hand was on Belle’s pulse.

“Go on talking to her,” he whispered. “That’s the right medicine.”

So Dave continued, as cheerily as before. Belle Darrin could not follow all that he said. There was a trace of bewilderment in her eyes. The lids still fluttered, although she now breathed regularly even if low.

“That’s all, sir. Now step outside until you’re called,” Hunter ordered, with the air of a man who has learned something new and who means to claim all the credit.

Without a word of protest Dave turned, pushed aside the curtain and stepped outside into the passage.

“How is she?” whispered a familiar voice.

“Dan!”

“I came over as soon as I got word. The passengers have been rescued in great shape. But how is Belle?”

“Weak, but she’s going to mend all right—thank heaven!”

Their hands gripped.

“I was greatly worried,” Dan confessed in a low tone.

“Hang it all,” Darrin admitted, a new joy in his own low tones, “I believe I would have been worried to death if I had realized how all the chances were against me. But I felt as though such a thing as Belle’s death couldn’t be—and so it didn’t happen.”

“You’re not talking very straight, chum, but I understand you,” Dan nodded.

“And now, as to our duties,” Dave went on. “Fernald assured me he could attend to everything, and I knew that of course he could. So I let him. Were any of the ‘Griswold’s’ passengers lost? Yes, of course some must have been, for I saw the shell strike in that boat—the one Belle was in.”

“Three were killed by the exploding shell, and you have two on board who were wounded by fragments. Two more were drowned—probably because the shock stunned them and left them helpless in the water.”

“And I have been keeping Hunter with Belle all this time!” Dave uttered, rather shamefacedly. “I must call him. Perhaps he can revive the two who seemed to be drowned. Besides, some of the others need assistance.”

“Not a chance of it,” Dan continued. “I’ve had my own medico and two sick-bay men working over the cases. Both patients are dead. And there are others missing. Your executive officer is having lists made. Fortunately the ‘Griswold’s’ crew and passenger lists were saved. Your ship and mine have on board all who were picked up. Fernald should soon know just who were lost.”

So Hunter and the two women remained with Belle Darrin. Half an hour later Dave was called back into the cabin. Dan, who had remained with him all this time, still stayed outside.

“I’m going to be all right, Dave, as you can see for yourself,” Belle smiled, brightly, though her voice was but little above a whisper. “So you got me out of the water yourself? They have told me that much.”

“You’re all right again, little girl, but you must gain a lot of strength,” Dave answered, joyously. “I see old Hunter looking at me frowningly this minute—”

“I wasn’t,” interrupted the ship’s surgeon, “but you have the right idea, anyway. Mrs. Darrin is going to need sleep now, and then something light and nourishing to eat. So you’d better return to your duties, sir, and look me up later in the evening.”

“Good little girl!” Dave whispered, bending over and kissing Belle on the forehead. “I knew you’d finish your cruise all right. Now, I’m going to obey the surgeon’s orders. I’ll come back at the very earliest moment that I’m allowed to do so.”

Outside he thrust an arm gaily under Dalzell’s, and in this fashion the two chums walked briskly to the deck and bridge. They were soon busy with the figures of the day’s work. Between them, the “Grigsby” and the “Reed” had picked up nearly two hundred and fifty persons. Both craft were crowded. Five bodies had been recovered from the water, and about fifteen more people were listed as missing, though every effort had been made to discover more of those who were missing.

“I hate to think what would happen,” muttered Dalzell, “if an enemy submarine were to get between our two craft and let us have it right now—a strike against each of our ships!”

Right at that instant there came to their ears the jarring hail:

“’Ware torpedo! Headed starboard—amidships!”