"She's off again!"

They watched her mast, and saw a gap open between it and a boulder. It was obvious that she was moving out to sea.

"The wind has changed since we left!" exclaimed Jimmy. "When she swung, she got a turn of her cable round the anchor-fluke and pulled it up."

"We'd better run for the dory!" Bethune cried, setting off along the sh.o.r.e.

"No use!" Jimmy called after him. "There isn't time." He jerked off his heavy sea-boots as he added: "She's dragging her cable along the bottom now, but it won't check her long."

The others saw that he was right. The water got deeper suddenly below the half-tide line, and when the boat had picked up her anchor her progress would be rapid.

"It's too cold for swimming, and you can't catch her!" Bethune expostulated breathlessly.

"I must do the best I can," said Jimmy, flinging off his jacket and plunging into the water.

They left him and ran along the beach, stumbling among the stones. It was some distance to the dory, and darkness was coming on. The _Cetacea_ would drift to leeward fast, and they feared that she would be out of sight before they could begin the chase, but they might be in time to pick up their exhausted comrade. There was no doubt that he soon would become exhausted, because the water was icy cold, and a short, troubled swell worked into the bay. Besides this, the horror of their position lent them speed. It looked as if they would be left without food or shelter from the inclement weather on the desolate island. They had not even a line to catch fish with, and Bethune remembered that he had only three or four loose matches in his pocket.

He fell into a hollow between two boulders, hurting his leg, but was up again in a moment, making the best speed he could, with Moran clattering among the rocks a yard or two behind. Fortunately, the tide was almost up to the dory when they reached her. Thrusting her off they jumped on board and rowed with savage determination, pulling an oar each. The light craft lifted her bows and leaped forward in time to their powerful strokes, but a steeper swell was working in against the wind as the tide rose, and the long undulations checked her. Though the air was keen, the sweat dripped from the men as they rowed with throbbing hearts and labored breath, turning their heads for a glance forward every now and then.

They could not see their comrade, but that was hardly to be expected: a man's head is a small object to distinguish at a distance in broken water. The _Cetacea_, however, was still visible, and she did not seem to be much farther offsh.o.r.e. It was possible that Jimmy had got on board, and that they might overtake her before she felt the full force of the wind. The hope put fresh heart into them, and they strained every muscle to drive the dory faster across the irregular heave.

When Jimmy plunged into the icy water he gasped as it closed about him.

The cold took away his breath and paralyzed his limbs, and he let his feet fall with an unreasoning desire to scramble out again. This, however, lasted only for a moment; before he could touch bottom he overcame the impulse, and, throwing his left hand forward, struck out vigorously. His was not a complex character, and his normal frame of mind was practical rather than imaginative, but he had been endowed with certain Spartan virtues. Moreover, he had learned in the sailing ships that what is needful must be done, no matter how the flesh may shrink.

Now, though he could not think collectively, he knew that it was his business to overtake the sloop. He could swim better than either of his comrades, and he set about his task with the unreflecting stubbornness that generally characterized him when an effort must be made. His mind was fixed on his object, and not on the risk he ran.

After the first half-minute the shock began to pa.s.s, and he suffered less, but he dully realized that he was making very poor progress. His clothing hampered him, the swell flung him back, the only thing in his favor was that the ripples the wind made ran behind him instead of splashing in his face. He swam with a powerful overhand stroke, but he knew that the _Cetacea_ would drift at double his speed unless he could catch her while she was still in shallow water. When he swung up with the swell she was clearly in sight, but he could not judge whether he was gaining. She was still an alarming distance off, and moving away, but he hoped that the cable might check her, as it trailed along the uneven bottom.

But as the moments pa.s.sed Jimmy began to despair of reaching her. The cold was sapping his vitality, his legs were getting cramped, and his breath was failing; but he turned upon his breast and swam on. He must hold out until his strength was spent; besides, he could not make the beach if he turned back. For a while he could not see the boat: his eyes were full of water, for the swell, which was getting steeper, occasionally broke over his head. Indeed, he hardly cared to look and contemplate the distance still to be covered. At last, however, when he stopped for a moment and raised his head, hope crept into his heart. The _Cetacea_ was much nearer than he had expected. He must make a last, determined effort.

She had swung round, beam to wind, when he feebly clutched her rail amidships. For a few moments he held on; he had now to solve the difficulty of getting on board. As she drifted, his body trailed out away from her, and he could not get his knees against the planking. Even if he were able to do so, he had not the strength to lift himself on deck; and there was no rope hanging over that he could seize. Then he thought of the wire bobstay that ran down from the end of the bowsprit and was fastened to the stem near the waterline. He must try to reach it and climb on that way. He cautiously moved his hands along the rail; for if they slipped off, he might not be able to get hold again.

Foot by foot he worked forward, and, stopping for some moments, tried to get up by the shrouds. He slipped back with only three fingers on the rail, and the risk he had run of letting go altogether unnerved him. He waited until he recovered, and then dragged himself forward, moving one hand over the other a few inches at a time. This was more difficult now, because as the boat's sheerline rose sharply at the bows he was higher out of the water and there was a greater weight on his arms; but at last he clutched the bowsprit and hung on by it, splashing feebly as he felt for the wire stay with his feet. Now that he was almost in safety, terror seized him. He found the wire, slid his foot along it, and lifting himself to the bowsprit fell forward, limp and inert, on deck.

He lay there for a minute, and then with an effort roused himself, realizing that if he remained much longer he would perish of exhaustion and cold.

Staggering aft, he entered the cabin, and pulled off his clothes. There was no liquor on board, but he found some garments which were not very damp, and after trying to rub himself he put them on and munched a ship's biscuit while he did so. Feeling somewhat better after this, he went up on deck, for he must get in the cable and hoist some canvas, in order to gain control of the boat, which was fast driving out to sea.

When he seized the chain he realized how greatly the swim had exhausted him. It was a heavy cable, but he had often hauled a long scope of it in when the anchor was holding and he had the boat's resistance to overcome. Now, however, he was beaten when he had laboriously pulled up a fathom or two. Trying again, he raised a few feet, and then had hard work to secure the chain round the bits.

He sat down to rest a minute, and looked about for the dory. He made her out indistinctly, but she seemed a long distance off, and as the breeze was freshening he did not know whether she could overtake the sloop. By setting some canvas he could pick her up, and the foresail would not be hard to hoist; but the _Cetacea_ would not sail to windward with the heavy cable hanging from her bows. Jimmy remembered that there was a good length of it below; indeed, there might be scope enough to allow him to drop several fathoms on the bottom. The weight of this would act as a drag, and might, perhaps, bring her up. It depended on the depth of water.

He let the chain run, and watched it anxiously as it rattled out of the pipe. For a time it showed no sign of stopping, and then he felt a thrill as the harsh clanking slackened. The lower end had found bottom; but the vessel would soon lift a fathom or two, and he could not tell whether she would stop. The links ran slowly forward in a slanting line, and Jimmy saw by the absence of any splashing at the bows that she was still adrift. Then the rattle of the cable recommenced, which showed at least that there was more below, and she slowly stopped. In a few moments he felt her tug and strain, and white ripples broke angrily against the planking. She had either stopped or was drifting very slowly. Standing up on the cabin top, he waved his jacket that his comrades in the dory might see he was on board, and then went below out of the bitter wind. He could do no more.

It was some time later when the dory struck the side, and Moran clambered on board and entered the cabin. Jimmy could not see his face, but his gruff voice had an unusual tone.

"That was a mighty good swim, partner," he said. "I was scared you wouldn't make it."

"So was I," smiled Jimmy. "I was too dead beat to heave the cable when I got on board."

"Of course," Moran agreed sympathetically. "Now you lie off and leave things to us."

Then Bethune came down and let his hand rest for a moment on Jimmy's shoulder.

"Thanks, old man! Neither Hank nor I could have reached her."

They were none of them sentimentalists, and Jimmy felt that enough had been said.

"I'm a bit worried about my thick jacket and sea-boots," he replied.

"You see, I'll need them."

"That's so," said Moran. "As soon as we've got sail on her, we'll pull back and look."

Jimmy protested. They were tired and hungry, and it would be a hard row to the beach against the rising breeze, but Moran laughed, and Bethune told him to sit still when he would have gone up to help them. He lighted the stove, and when they called him the reefed mainsail was banging overhead, and Bethune was in the dory, while Moran, kneeling under the jib, freed a coil of chain from the fluke of the anchor.

"I guess that's what made the trouble," he said. "We won't be long, and when you have made two or three tacks you can show a light."

He jumped into the dory, and it disappeared into the dark, while Jimmy drove the sloop ahead, close-hauled, until he dimly made out the boulders on a point. Then he came round and stretched along-sh.o.r.e on the other tack, until he left the helm for a few moments and lighted a lantern. Soon after he had done so he heard a shout and when he hove the boat to there was a splash of oars. Then the dory emerged from the gloom and Moran, seizing the rail, threw a jacket and pair of long boots on deck.

"Got them all right. They were a fathom from the tide; the beach is pretty steep."

"I must have had the sense to throw them well back, though I can't remember it," Jimmy answered with a laugh.

"We're going to have a better supper than I thought we would get not long ago," Bethune remarked as he lifted the dory in; and Jimmy gave the helm to Moran and went below to help in preparing the meal.

CHAPTER XXVIII-A TRUCE

When Jimmy sighted the island where the wreck lay, there was a ghostly white glimmer among the mist that hung heavily along the sh.o.r.e. Most of the land was hidden, but the bank of vapor had a solidity and sharpness of outline that indicated the existence of something behind it. The wind was light, but it freshened as they crept on under easy sail, and the fog rolling back from the water revealed a broad and roughly level streak that glittered in the morning light. Nearer at hand two tall detached ma.s.ses shone a cold gray-white on a strip of indigo sea. Then the vapor dropped again like a curtain as the breeze died away.

"Ice!" commented Moran. "Guess we've got here too soon."

"It seemed to be banked up north of the point," Bethune remarked. "I imagine we'll be pretty safe in the bight unless some of that thin, cutting stuff is drifting about."

Jimmy hove the boat to and lighted his pipe.

"The matter needs thinking over, and we'll wait a bit for a better view," he said. "It doesn't look as if we could get to work just yet, and if any big floes drove across the banks at high-water, we'd be awkwardly placed in the bight. On the other hand, the ice will probably hang about until a strong breeze breaks it up, and I don't want to keep the sea in wild weather while it's in the neighborhood. The fog comes down thick and the nights are still dark."

The others agreed to this and were afterward moodily silent. Whichever course they took there would be delay. It had been a relief to find that they had reached the island first, but they had no doubt that Clay was not far behind them. All they had gained by an earlier start might be sacrificed unless they could finish their task before he arrived.

The fog held all day and grew thicker when darkness fell; but the red dawn brought a clearer air with signs of a change, and Jimmy steered sh.o.r.eward, sweeping the beach with his gla.s.ses as they approached the channel through the sands. That end of the island was free of ice, and after consulting together they decided to enter the bight. They thought they would be safer there, and they wanted to feel that the voyage was finished and they were ready to get to work. During the afternoon it began to blow strongly off the sh.o.r.e. The sloop lay in smooth water close to the beach, but when night fell the surf was roaring on the sands and they could hear the crash of rending ice. At times the din was awe-striking, but it died away again, and although they kept anchor watch in turns no floe appeared to trouble them. At dawn the greater part of the ice had gone, and they could see white patches shining far out at sea, but it was blowing much too hard for them to think of leaving shelter.

They waited two days, anxiously watching for a trail of smoke, but nothing broke the skyline, and at last the breeze fell. It was a flat calm when they towed the _Cetacea_ out on a gray morning, but the swell ran steep and a thin drizzle obscured the sea. The sloop plunged wildly over the long undulations, jerking back the dory in spite of her crew's toil at the oars, and it was nearly noon when they picked up their cross-bearings and anch.o.r.ed by the wreck. n.o.body suggested getting dinner and Jimmy went down as soon as he could put on the diving dress.

He found the wreck, which freed him of a keen anxiety, but he had to come up without entering the hold. She had moved a short distance since he last saw her, and now lay almost on her beam-ends with her upper works badly shattered. The gap they had previously crept through was closed by broken beams. Jimmy supposed that heavy ice, floating deep in the water, had ground across her higher part as it drove out to sea.

Moran went down next, and reported on his return that an entrance might be made, with some trouble. Bethune went armed with a crowbar. By nightfall they had wrenched away several obstructing timbers and discovered that there was a good deal of sand to be moved. They ate a hearty supper and went to sleep. The work was the same the next day, but although they began as soon as it was light they realized by noon that the most they could hope for was to clear the way for an entrance on the morrow. All felt the effects of their labors and of breathing the compressed air, and when it was Jimmy's turn to go down toward evening, he leaned on the coaming, reluctant to put on the dress.