CHAPTER XIX.

THE LEAP FOR LIFE.

All this time the eye of Captain Cole was scanning the coast before them, and he was coolly weighing the chances it offered for an escape for him and his companions.

He noticed that the high, precipitous bluffs, as we have already mentioned, directly opposite them, sat back some distance from the shore. Were it otherwise, not the slightest hope would remain for the most daring swimmer that ever cleft the wave.

Not a living soul was to be seen upon these bluffs. He knew that further inland were marauding Indians, who, if they knew of the booty that was thus offered, would swarm along the shore in myriads, eager and impatient for the sea to cast the prey into their hands.

If they should appear, one would have little to choose between going down in the sea at rest, or in being washed ashore in the full possession of life and strength.

Harry had withdrawn his attention for the moment from the other vessel, when he felt the captain touch his leg, and, as he looked down at him to see what it meant, he pointed to the wreck.

One glance showed that it was breaking up. Large fragments could be seen tossed aloft by the waves, and to several of them, men were clinging.

Only two remained upon the prow and they were Little Rifle and her father. The other had also plunged into the boiling sea, in his desperate struggle for life.

“Why do they wait?” was the question that came involuntarily to the lips of the terrified lad; “they may as well take the leap first as last.”

He had considerable hope of their escaping. He knew that Little Rifle was a perfect swimmer, and he had heard old Ruff Robsart tell of some of her wonderful exploits in water. It was to be supposed, of course, that her father was also an expert.

Instead of watching those upon the wreck, Captain Cole was carefully observing those who were in the water; for the probability was that whatever fate befell them would befall those who came after. If they escaped, so might he; if they failed, the probabilities were that he would.

He saw them carried swiftly southward, all passing close to his own boat, and one poor fellow was swept under the bow, bruised and drowned; but the three others, clinging to the fragments cleared the second wreck, and by a curious action of the eddying current, were whirled in so close to shore, that by tremendous and powerful swimming all three reached land and were seen to wade up the beach, dripping with brine, and scarcely able to stand.

This was encouraging, for the captain would not acknowledge that his superior in swimming had yet been born. It was characteristic of the man, that disclaiming all assistance in the shape of life-preservers or pieces of the wreck, he should fling himself boldly into the ocean and begin the struggle single-handed.

The eyes of Harry Northend were naturally fixed upon him, and he watched his movements with an intensity of interest that can scarcely be imagined. He observed that as he drifted southward, he aimed directly for the shore, swimming with a steady and powerful stroke. He made no attempt to prevent the foam of the breakers from going over his head; for the simple reason that he knew no mortal man can support himself in spray and foam. All that he can do, is to hold his breath, and wait for a chance to get another mouthful of air.

This the sailor did, surely and steadily approaching the shore, until as tossed high upon the crest of a mighty wave, he made land, and clinging to the sand, scrambled up out of the baffled waves.

Harry’s eyes were upon the brave captain, and his heart gave a throb of pleasure as he saw that one at least had escaped, when something dark caught his eye in the water, and he saw that Little Rifle was in the water, clinging to a fragment of the wreck, and using might and main to reach the shore.

One glance at where the other wreck had been, showed that it was gone. The sea was sweeping over the spot, and the only part that remained visible was that to which the two were holding fast, and this was spinning resistlessly in the current.

Harry would have saluted them by way of encouragement, as they passed, but they were too much engaged with their own work to glance right or left.

The lad wondered why it was that Little Rifle persisted in clinging to the plank, when her ability in swimming would enable her to make much better progress toward the shore; but, as he watched the movements of the two, he rightly suspected that she did this to assist her father, who was not her equal in swimming, and who was afraid to trust himself alone in the waves.

The progress upon a raft is necessarily much slower than that of simply relying upon one’s muscular power and skill in the water; and so, with a terrible misgiving, he saw the two sweep on down the coast, without, so far as he was able to judge, coming any nearer.

It was plain that the exertions of the noble-hearted girl were intended mainly to benefit her parent. If she should fling herself loose from the float, and strike out for the shore, she could reach it as certainly as did Captain Cole, and the seamen of her own vessel.

As if to convince her of the truth of this, the sailors who had been lashed in the rigging of the Albatross, were now struggling in the water and steadily making their way to shore.

But certain death itself would not have dissuaded her from the attempt. With all her bravery and remarkable skill, she worked the craft toward the land, determined that if saved or lost, it should be in the company of her parent.

Harry felt that the time had come for him to make the “leap for life”; for he was the only one left, and the wreck itself gave signs of breaking up; but before doing so, he was anxious to see what became of Little Rifle; for if she escaped, he would be nerved to make greater exertions for his own safety.

Harry took a look at the father and daughter, but it was not a very satisfactory one, and convinced that it would not do for him to remain longer, he came carefully down the ladder, so as to leap into the sea in such a way as to run no danger of being swept under or against the hull.

He was nearly to the bottom, when there was a fearful swaying, and he saw that the wreck was turning upon its side.

Not a moment was to be lost, and with a prayer upon his lip, he leaped as far out in the boiling waves as was possible, and like Captain Cole, struck straight for shore, with all the strength at his command, dreading each moment to receive a crushing blow from the mast or one of the spars.

He escaped this, but he found it almost impossible to prevent himself from strangling, as he seemed to be under water nearly all the time.

But he struggled bravely as long as power remained. He could see the black rocks gleaming wet and cheerless near him; dim figures of men upon the beach—something like a shout—then all was blackness of darkness—and he knew nothing.

Was this death?