As it happened, Bert was just at that moment changing his grip upon the rope, and balancing himself upon the extreme edge of the stringer, which formed the edge of the wharf. The ill-timed push caught him unawares. He threw out his arms to steady himself, and the rope slipped altogether from his grasp. The next instant, with a cry of fear that was taken up by the boys standing helplessly about, he fell over into the dark, swirling water, between the vessel's side and the wharf.

Down, down, down he went, while the water roared in his ears with the thunders of Niagara, and filled his mouth with its sickening brine, as instinctively he opened it to cry for help. He could not swim a stroke, but he had a good idea of what the motions were, and so now, in a desperate effort to save his life, he struck out vigorously with his hands. It must have helped him, too; for out of the darkness into which he had been plunged at first, he emerged into a lighter place, where, through the green water, he could see his hands looking very white, as they moved before his face.

But this did not bring him to the surface; so he tried another plan.

Doubling his st.u.r.dy legs beneath him, he shot them out as he had seen other boys do when "treading water." A thrill of joy inspired him as the effort succeeded, and, his head rising above the surface, he got one good breath before sinking again. But the pitiless water engulfed him once more, and, though he struggled hard, he seemed unable to keep himself from sinking deeper still. Then the desire to struggle began to leave him. Life seemed no longer a thing to be fiercely striven for. A strange peace stole over his mind, and was followed by a still stranger thing; for while he floated there, an unresisting prey to the deep, it appeared as though all the events of his past life were crowding before him like some wonderful panorama. From right to left they followed one another in orderly procession, each as clear and distinct as a painted picture, and he was watching them with absorbed, painless interest, when something dark came across his vision; he felt himself grasped firmly and drawn swiftly through the water, and the next thing he knew, he was in the light and air again, and was being handed up to the top of the wharf by men who pa.s.sed him carefully from one to the other. In the very nick of time rescue had come, and Bert was brought back to life.

Now, who was his rescuer, and what took place while Bert was struggling for his life in the cold, dark water? The instant he disappeared the boys shouted and shrieked in such a way as to bring the whole crew of the _Santa Maria_ to the bulwarks, over which they eagerly peered, not understanding what was the matter. Frank, who was in a frenzy of anxiety and alarm, tried hard to explain to them; but his efforts were unavailing until the reappearance of Bert's head made the matter plain at once, and then he thought they would, of course, spring to the rescue. But they did not. They looked at one another, and jabbered something unintelligible, but not one of them moved, though Frank seized the liveliest of them by the arm, and, pointing to the place where Bert vanished, again indicated, by unmistakable gestures, what he wanted him to do. The man simply shook his head and moved away. He either could not swim, or did not think it worth while to risk his precious life in trying to rescue one of the foreign urchins that had been bothering the _Santa Maria_ of late. Had Bert's life depended upon these men, it might have been given up at once.

But there was other help at hand. John Connors, the good-natured Irish storekeeper, by whose sufferance the boys were permitted to make a playground of the wharf, had heard their frantic cries, although he was away up in one of the highest flats of the farthest store. Without stopping to see what could be the matter, Connors leaped down the long flights of stairs at a reckless rate, and ran toward the shrieking boys.

"Bert's overboard--save him!" they cried, as he burst into their midst.

"Where?" he asked, breathlessly, while he flung off his boots.

"There--just there," they replied, pointing to where Bert had last been seen.

Balancing himself for an instant on the end of the stringer, Connors, with the spring of a practised swimmer, dived into the depths and disappeared; while the boys, in the silence of intense anxiety, crowded as close as they dared to the edge of the wharf, and the Lascars looked down from their bulwarks in stolid admiration. There were some moments of harrowing uncertainty, and then a shout arose from the boys, which even the swarthy sailors imitated, after a fashion; for cleaving the bubbled surface came the head of brave John Connors, and, close beside it, the dripping curls of Bert Lloyd, the faces of both showing great exhaustion.

The sailors were all alert now. Ropes were hastily flung over the side, and swarming down these with the agility of monkeys, they took Bert out of his rescuer's hands and pa.s.sed him up to the wharf; Connors followed una.s.sisted, so soon as he had recovered his breath.

Once upon the wharf, they were surrounded by a noisy group of boys, overjoyed at their playmate's happy escape from death, and overflowing with admiration for his gallant rescuer. Bert very quickly came to himself--for he had not indeed entirely lost consciousness--and then Connors told him just how he had got hold of him:

"When I dived down first I couldn't see anything of you at all, my boy, and I went hunting about with my eyes wide open and looking for you. At last, just as I was about giving you up, I saw something dark below me that I thought might, p'r'aps, be yourself. So I just stuck out my foot, and by the powers if it didn't take you right under the chin. As quick as a wink I drew you toward me, and once I had a good grip of you, I put for the top as hard as I could go; and here we are now, safe and sound.

And, faith, I hope you won't be trying it again in a hurry."

[Ill.u.s.tration: BERT RESCUED.--_Page_ 214.]

Bert was very much in earnest when he a.s.sured him he would not, and still more in earnest when he tried to express his grat.i.tude. But Connors would none of it.

"Not at all, not at all, my boy," said he, with a laugh. "A fine young chap like you is well worth saving any day, and it's not in John Connors to stand by and see you drown, even if those black-faced furriners don't know any better."

CHAPTER XXI.

LEARNING TO SWIM.

Bert's appearance, when he made his way home with dripping clothes, and face still pale from what he had undergone, created no small consternation. His sister was particularly alarmed, and it took some time to convince her that, once having got out of the grasp of the greedy water, he was really in no more danger. Had she been permitted to have her own way, she would have bundled him off to bed forthwith, and filled up any little corners inside of him that the sea water had left unoccupied, with warm raspberry vinegar. But Bert would none of it, and Mrs. Lloyd, although a good deal startled at first, soon recovered her self-possession sufficiently to agree with him, when he insisted that all he wanted was some dry clothes and a rest.

The dry clothes were quickly furnished, and having put them on, he returned to the sitting-room to tell them all about his rescue, Frank being at hand to fill in any details that he missed in the recital. The tears stood in his mother's eyes, as he related what he had felt and thought during those eventful moments when his life hung in the balance; tears of distress, of sympathy, of joy, and finally of grat.i.tude, as in glowing words he described how n.o.ble John Connors had dived away down into the dark green depths to rescue him just in the nick of time.

"Oh, Bert, darling," she exclaimed, when he had finished, folding him to her breast, "how good G.o.d was to send dear, brave Connors to your help!

We cannot praise Him enough, and, dearest, don't you think He must intend you to be something good and great for Him, when He thus spared your life? And that dear man Connors!--I feel as though I could kiss the hands that drew you from the water. Your father must go to-night, and tell him how grateful we are; and he must do more than that--he must reward him well for running such a risk to save our boy."

When Mr. Lloyd came home and learned what had happened, he made no pretence of concealing his emotion. The very thought of losing in that dreadful way the boy who was the joy and pride of his life filled him with horror, and no words could express his fervent grat.i.tude to Connors, and to G.o.d, for sending so courageous a rescuer. So soon as dinner was over he set off in search of him, taking Bert with him.

Connors's home was easily found, and Connors himself sat smoking his evening pipe upon the door-step, as unconcernedly as though he had done nothing out of the way that afternoon.

The object of Mr. Lloyd's visit was soon made known, but he found more difficulty than he expected in giving such expression as he desired to the grat.i.tude he felt. Connors was quite willing to be thanked, and accepted Mr. Lloyd's fervent words with a respectful acquiescence that well became him, but when Mr. Lloyd broached the subject of a more tangible reward, Connors quite as respectfully, but very firmly, refused.

"I want no reward for saving your boy, sir. It's proud I am of pulling so fine a boy as that out of the water. I did no more than you'd do for my boy, sir, if he were in the same sc.r.a.pe," said he, in reply to Mr.

Lloyd's delicately worded offer.

"That may be, Connors. I'm sure I would do as you say, but all the same I would feel much more comfortable if you would accept this purse as some expression of my grat.i.tude," urged Mr. Lloyd.

"And, thanking you kindly, sir, I'd feel much more comfortable if I didn't take it," returned Connors, in a tone there was no mistaking. So Mr. Lloyd, resolving in his mind that he would find out some other way of rewarding the worthy fellow, said no more then, and shortly after took his leave.

As Bert and his father walked home together they were still talking about the event of the afternoon.

"If you had been drowned, Bert, it would to some extent have been my fault," said Mr. Lloyd; "for I should not have so long neglected teaching you to swim. A boy of your age ought to be well able to take care of himself in the water, and I should have seen that you were.

However, now that this escape of yours has waked me up, I will attend to the matter at once. So we will begin to-morrow morning, Bert, and have a swimming lesson every day before breakfast."

"Oh, father; I'm so glad," exclaimed Bert, skipping about joyfully. "I want to know how to swim ever so much, and I'll soon learn if you'll teach me."

"All right, my boy. You see to waking me in good time, and I'll see that you learn to swim," replied Mr. Lloyd, clapping Bert affectionately on the back.

The next morning at six o'clock Bert was rapping loudly on his father's door, and calling upon him to get up, and a quarter of an hour later the pair with towels on their arms were off in the direction of a secluded, deserted wharf that would just suit their purpose.

On arriving at this place, Mr. Lloyd showed Bert how he proposed to teach him to swim, and it certainly was about as excellent a way as could well have been devised. He had brought with him two things besides the towels: a piece of rope about the thickness of a clothes line, and ten yards or more in length, and a strong linen band, two yards in length. The linen band he put round Bert's shoulders in such a way that there was no possibility of its slipping, or interfering with the action of his arms; and then the rope was so fastened to the band that when Bert was in the water his father, standing on the wharf above him, could hold him in just the right position for swimming.

The preparations having been completed, Bert was bidden descend the steps and plunge into the water. He started off bravely enough, but when he reached the bottom step he hesitated. The water was at least ten feet in depth beneath him, and he had never been "over his head," as they say, before, except when he came so near being drowned. Naturally, therefore, he shrank from committing himself to the deep in this fashion.

"Well, Bert, what's the matter? Are you afraid the water is too cold?"

asked his father, as he noticed his hesitation.

"No, father; not exactly," answered Bert, feeling half ashamed of himself.

"You're afraid it's too deep, then?" suggested Mr. Lloyd. And Bert looked up with a smile that showed he had hit the mark.

"Never mind, my boy," said Mr. Lloyd, cheeringly. "You're all right. I won't let go of you. Jump in like a man."

Bert hung back a moment; then, shutting his mouth tightly and closing his eyes, he sprang boldly into the cool, green water. He went under a little at first, but a slight tug on the rope brought him quickly to the top, and recovering his breath and his self-possession at the same time, he struck out with his arms and kicked with his legs, according to the best of his ability. His motions were sadly unskilful, as may be easily imagined, and although they used up his strength pretty rapidly, they would not have kept his head above water for a minute; but a gentle pressure on the rope in Mr. Lloyd's hand made that all right, and, feeling quite at his ease, Bert struggled away until he was tired out, and then his father, who had all the time been cheering and directing him, drew him back to the steps, and the lesson was over.

"You did very well, Bert; very well, indeed," said he, in tones of warm approval, as Bert proceeded to rub off the salt water and get into his clothes again. "I don't think it will take a great many lessons to make a swimmer of you."

And Mr. Lloyd's confidence was well founded; for so earnestly did Bert give himself to the business of learning to swim that by the end of a fortnight he could go ten yards out and back without any help from the rope at all. Another fortnight and the rope was no longer needed. Mr.

Lloyd now went into the water with Bert, and swimming out to the middle of the dock, would have the boy come to him, and after resting upon his broad shoulders a moment, make his way back to the steps again.

Thus, in little more than a month, Bert became quite able to take care of himself in the water under ordinary circ.u.mstances; and his father, feeling well satisfied with his proficiency, gave him liberty to go to the wharves as often as he pleased--a boon Bert highly appreciated.

A pleasure unshared by his faithful Frank was but half a pleasure to Bert. Next in importance to his being able to swim himself was Frank's acquiring the same invaluable accomplishment. Invaluable? Yes, one might indeed rightly use a stronger term, and say indispensable; for the education of no boy is complete until he has mastered the art of swimming. And if the boys knew their own interests as thoroughly as their parents and guardians ought to know them, they would agitate all over the land for the provision of swimming baths in connection with their schools, or in some other way that would ensure them the opportunity of learning what to do with themselves in the water, as well as upon the land.

Frank could swim a stroke or two before Bert took him in hand, and consequently was soon able to dispense with the rope; but timid little Ernest Linton, who was the next pupil, took a lot of teaching, and there seemed small prospect of his conquering his timidity sufficiently to "go it alone" before the swimming season would be over.

The fame of Bert's swimming school spread among his playmates to an extent that threatened to be embarra.s.sing. By the time they were half way through the mid-summer holidays, a crowd of boisterous youngsters gathered every morning at the old wharf, and struggled for the use of band and rope, until at last there had to be several of these provided.

Then they had fine fun. A dozen boys would be in the water at the same time--some of them expert swimmers, the others in all stages of learning--and there would be races, splashing matches, unexpected duckings, sly tricks upon the nervous learners, and all sorts of capers, such as might be expected from boys of their age and enterprise.

By way of deepening the interest in this healthful amus.e.m.e.nt, they organised a compet.i.tion, the prizes being supplied by their parents, who were duly waited upon by a properly-authorised committee; and one fine August afternoon, the sleepy old wharf was made to fairly tremble with excitement, as race followed race in quick succession, amid the cheering and shouting of some two-score vigorous boys. Much to his delight, Frank succeeded in carrying off the first prize. He was a persistent, painstaking fellow when his interest was thoroughly aroused, and while other chaps were skylarking about in the water, he had been practising long swims, the consequence of which was that at the compet.i.tion--when, of course, the best prize was given for the longest race; the course, in this instance, being out to the head of the wharf, and back--Frank left all the other contestants behind, and came in an easy winner.