Chapter III: Lost Overboard

Down he went, the dull roar of water in his ears. Then, even more quickly, he was shot to the surface. Instinctively he thrashed arms and legs. His lungs seemed bursting by the time his head was momentarily above the waves, and he could not have cried out had his life depended on it. All he could do was take a great breath of air as he went swirling upward on the crest of a sea. For an instant he opened closed eyes. Below him was a dim gleam of light, and even as he sank suddenly downward again into a trough he startledly realized that the _944_ was almost within arm’s length. Then he was again buried under an avalanche of water and must needs fight for breath and struggle mightily, and when next he could blink the drops from his eyes the faint glow was above him but no farther away. By some strange whim of wind or current, he thought, he was being borne along with the boat! At another moment the absurdity of the idea would have followed the thought, but not now. Now he accepted the miracle and made the most of it. Drawing a deep breath into the tired lungs, he shouted with all his remaining strength.

But that cry was whisked away on the gale and never reached the deck. A deluge of water, breaking over the boat, descended on him and sent him rolling over and over, gasping and choking. Then a mighty wave caught him up and again tossed him high in air, and it was then, thrashing and fighting to get his head above the surface, that one hand collided with a rope and the miracle was explained. He knew then why he had been so abruptly pulled from the depths and why he was still alongside the chaser. In some strange manner a line, probably one that they had been lashing the small boat with, had fouled itself around him and caught under his life-vest. At all events there it was, slackening and tightening, pulling him willy-nilly through the sea. He gripped both hands about it and held on tightly, while a warm flood of hope and thankfulness surged through him. Then he began to pull himself, hand over hand, half drowning under the battering waves. Fear that the line might come away at the other end before he could reach safety stopped the beating of his heart once, but he kept on. At moments he was thrown high above the deck, at other times he wallowed far below it, and as the line jerked in his grasp he set his teeth and held his breath and went floundering with it, his hands and arms aching with the strain. Then, in the black darkness, he knew that the hull was beside him. A sudden roll of the boat left him dangling for an instant half out of water. He didn’t shout, for he needed every ounce of his strength for the task that remained. Twice his body was hurled with terrific force against the side and what little breath remained with him was hammered out. But he held doggedly to the rope and waited and after what seemed long, long minutes wave and boat combined to solve his problem. At the moment that the _944_ rolled her port rail down a wave lifted him up. He pulled frantically on the line and then, releasing one hand, groped for another hold.

There was a horrible instant of despair during which his eager fingers encountered only empty air, but then, as the deck swung away and he felt himself dropping back into the sea, his fingers closed about a rail stanchion. He found a hold for his left hand, too, as the _944_ careened to starboard, and he felt his dripping body torn from the water and left dangling against the hull. For a second of time he hung there limp and still while the roll of the boat carried him up and up. Then, summoning what little strength was left in his tired body, he squirmed and pulled, reaching for new holds, finally working one knee over the edge and then holding himself there while the boat rolled back again and a torrent of water, bursting over the stern, tore at his straining hands. He wanted to gasp for help then, but there was no breath left, and his appeal was no more than a whisper. His wet clothing seemed to weigh tons, and he despaired of ever pulling himself to safety. And perhaps he never would have. But while he clung there like a limpet, hands fastened under his shoulders and he felt himself being lifted. Then the deck flung itself up at him and he knew no more.

When he opened his eyes again he was undressed and between the gray blankets of his bunk in the dimly lighted fo’c’sle. Figures moved about him hazily. Some one tried to make him drink something hot, and after muttered objections he swallowed a few mouthfuls and was horribly sick at his stomach. He must have slept after that, for when he awoke again daylight was flooding the quarters. He felt absurdly weak, too tired to lift the hand that, unconsciously, had braced against the edge of the bunk while he slept, too weary to keep his eyes open. He dozed again and awoke a third time to find Pete gently shaking him.

“Here’s your grub, Kid,” said Pete. “Your orders is to drink this coffee and eat the chuck. Cook’s made you a fine mess o’ gruel. Want to sit up?”

Dave blinked and cast a puzzled look about the fo’c’sle. Yes, it really was the fo’c’sle, which was a mighty relief to him, since during his recent doze he had dreamed that he was fighting for life in the sea. Clothing swayed with every roll and toss and boots slid around the floor. Clinging to the frame of the bunk, Pete was balancing himself with difficulty and the coffee by some seemingly superhuman effort. He was alternately frowning anxiously at the aluminum cup and grinning at Dave. Dave shook his head, however.

“I’m not hungry, thanks, Pete,” he said. “What――who――”

“What――who yourself! Come on now an’ be a sport, Kid. Orders is orders, you know. An’ say, if you don’t eat this chow cook’ll be in here with his cleaver. He’s in a nasty temper, anyway, what with makin’ coffee standin’ on his head. Take it from Pete, Kid, you’d better do as he tells you.”

Dave smiled and squirmed higher in the bunk, and, with Pete, braced against the side, aiding, managed to get nearly as much coffee down his throat inside as out. And he succeeded ultimately in swallowing some of the gruel and trying to look grateful, although he secretly thought it particularly vile. Pete refused him talk until he had made his meal. Then setting mug and pannikin on the deck, where they at once began to chase each other to and fro, he staggered to the end of the bunk, bumped his head resoundingly and sat down very suddenly.

“Well, now, how does it feel to be drowned an’ come to life again, Kid?” he inquired. “Say, you’re a lucky guy all right, do you know it? Jonah ain’t got nothin’ on you. You wasn’t never born to be drowned, I guess. If poor old Billy――”

Pete stopped abruptly.

“Who’s poor old Billy?” asked Dave weakly.

“Nobody,” growled Pete. “Tell me, Kid, did you tie that line around you before you went over, or what?”

“No, I didn’t know it was there at first. I guess I was in the water five minutes before I happened to find it.”

“Five minutes!” said Pete, looking queer.

“Well, something like that. Why?”

“How long do you think you was gone from our midst altogether?”

“I don’t know, Pete. It seemed a long time, but I suppose it wasn’t more than ten minutes, maybe.”

“Huh! You was gone just about three minutes from the time the wave struck us till I hauled you in again!”

“Three minutes,” faltered Dave. “You’re fooling! Why――why, it seemed like twenty!”

“Sure, I guess it did, at that. After that sea flattened us out Myers shouts ‘Who’s gone?’ Well, we didn’t know because we was all pretty busy pickin’ ourselves out o’ the water. I was jammed so hard under the boat we was lashin’ I couldn’t scarcely get out again. Then Myers tells us to call our names, an’ we done so, an’ we seen that――that you wasn’t there. Leastways we knew it. So some one heaves over a life-buoy and Myers tries to make the bridge to report, ’cause shoutin’ wasn’t no good. An’ about that time another wave strikes us an’ we had to hold on for our lives. That wave was about as fierce as the first one, too, and Billy――” Again Pete caught himself up. “Anyway, it was after that that I got to the side, with Mallory holdin’ on to me an’ the life-line, an’ sort o’ seen you hangin’ to the rail. It wa’n’t more than three minutes all told, Kid. We thought first you hadn’t never been clear over but had caught yourself at the rail. Then, when we got you back on deck there was the line snarled up with your life-vest and twisted around under your arms. Kid, you ain’t got no kick comin’ against your luck, take it from Pete!”

“No,” agreed Dave, gravely. Then, “Wasn’t Billy Groom with us last night there?” he asked.

Pete nodded.

“What――where is he now?”

“Billy? Oh, Billy’s――Billy’s around, I guess.” Pete spoke carelessly enough, but his eyes shifted from Dave’s. “Well, we’re glad to get you back, Kid, an’――”

“Was Billy drowned, Pete?” asked Dave in a small voice.

Pete frowned deeply, glanced at the other, looked away again, thrust out his lower lip and at last nodded silently.

“Gee!” murmured Dave.

“He went over in the next wave,” said Pete, scowling. “He never had no show in that sea. We slung him a ‘doughnut,’ but I guess it never came near him. I thought I wouldn’t tell you, ’cause it might make you sick again.” Pete eyed the other anxiously.

“It does――sort of,” muttered Dave. “I had all the luck, didn’t I? Groom was a better sailor than I’ll ever be, Pete. He had his rating badge. I guess it would have been fairer if――if he’d had the rope.”

“Aw, chase yourself!” growled Pete. “Billy was all right, sure. He was a corkin’ lad. We’re all sorry about him. But say, things don’t just happen in this world, if you get me, Kid. I mean”――Pete frowned deeply――“I mean things is all doped out for us beforehand. You was meant to have that line an’ poor old Billy Groom wasn’t. I don’t know why, but there it is. Maybe you was wanted to do somethin’ Billy couldn’t. I don’t know. Well, I got to beat it. The luff’ll be around pretty soon to see how you are. If you don’t want to tumble out yet, don’t you do it. Take it easy, Kid.”

And so Dave took it easy, lying in the bunk and listening to the creaks and groans of the little craft and the rush and thud of the green seas outside, and wondered soberly at the ways of Fate.