that dinner was one of the best the lads had ever eaten, it seemed to them. indeed, jack forgot about the howling of the wind and the spattering of the rain outside, and ray even ceased talking of his precious model, so intent were they both on satisfying their ravenous appetites. there were sizzling hot flounders, the finest flapjacks that ever were cooked, cold boiled lobster, fine homemade bread, steaming coffee and a generous apple pie, which jack assured the lobsterman was quite the best of its kind he had ever tasted.
“the finest flapjacks that ever were cooked.”
the old seaman took as much pride in his cooking as any housewife and it pleased him to watch the lads “git a full cargo,” as he expressed it. in fact, he urged them to eat more, even after they had announced that they could not possibly hold another morsel, and finally[215] the boys simply had to push back their chairs and cry “enough.”
it was fully half-past three when the dishes were cleared away and washed, and by that time the storm outside had worked up to a furious pitch. the wind whistled about the little cottage and down the chimney, blowing great quantities of smoke into the room from the wood fire that mitchell kept burning to heat his dish water. the rain was coming down harder now, and spattering against the window panes so furiously that jack had difficulty in seeing out across the cove in which the betsy anne and mitchell’s dories were moored.
“say, ray, this is a real storm,” he said to his young chum. “how on earth are we to get back to the lighthouse? we can’t go by way of the betsy anne. i’d never take a chance in any boat to-day no matter how seaworthy she is.”
“right an’ so, right an’ so, lad,” said the old lobsterman as he took a squint at the weather through the front window. “an’ ’e needn’t be a fearin’ as i’d ask ’e to. hit ud take a ’ull lot of coaxin’ for t’ git me t’ take t’ betsy hanne hout hin weather like this ’ere even[216] though she’s t’ safest boat fer ’er size as ever was. but must ’e go back t’day? can’t ’e stiy ’ere for t’ night, mebby?”
“goodness, no. you remember how we got a scolding for staying away over night at austin’s pool, don’t you, ray? poor mr. warner and big o’brien were worried to death. thought we’d been drowned, sure enough. and he saw us go out in a sailboat this morning too. jiminy, i’ll bet they think we were caught in this storm. they will sure decide we are goners, if we don’t show up to-night. we must get to the lighthouse, ray. don’t you agree with me?”
“yes,” said ray firmly, “mr. warner has been mighty good to both of us and i don’t think we should cause him any more worry than necessary. i was sorry that we made it so unpleasant by staying at frenchman’s point last time. we must get back to the lighthouse. we can walk across the island. i don’t mind getting wet, do you? that’s about the worst that can happen to us.”
“jest so, jest so,” said mitchell with a pleased smile. “i think as ’ow yer two boys ’as got common sense and a bit o’ feelin’ fer t’ other[217] feller. glad t’ ’ear ye speak es ye do. go, by hall means, an’ hif ye’ll take my advice ye’ll start mighty soon fer there’s no tellin’ as t’ ’ow long hit’ll tike ’e. an’ hif ye’re hout there when night comes on—well hin t’ dark ye might stumble over a cliff peraps er—er—. say, look ’ere, lads, i’ll go along wi’ ye. i don’t mind gettin’ wet an’ besides i got ’ilers an’ a so’wester. i’ll go long wi’ ye t’ show ’e t’ wi, seein’ as ’ow ye never walked crost t’ hisland yit.”
“great,” cried jack.
“finest ever,” said ray, and the old seaman looked delighted at their manifestations of pleasure.
“hall right, me ’arties, we’ll start right awiy. you lads, just wait till i git on me ilers an’ i’ll go out hin t’ boat ’ouse an’ look hup some old duds as i got stowed awi there agin jist sech an adwersity.” and presently the lobsterman donned his oilskins and plunged out into the storm.
a few moments later he stumped into the room again, puffing like a grampus and dripping wet. in his arms he clutched a bundle of weatherworn oilskins.
[218]
“phew, blime ’e hif hit ain’t rainin’,” said he as he deposited the bundle of clothing on the floor. “’ere’s a lot o’ cast-hoffs as i’ve ’ad a ’angin’ hin t’ boat ’ouse fer this long time. some o’ ’em is putty much worn, but they’ll shed water in spots henywi’. sort ’em hout, lads.”
jack and ray began rummaging through the bundle of yellowish gray garments and in no time they were decked out in weatherproof clothes. of course they wore their regular clothing underneath, as did old mitchell, but even at that the lobsterman’s cast-offs were far too large for them.
“some fit,” said jack as he waved a far too long sleeve in the air.
“huh, two of us could get into this jacket, but just the same i’m glad to have ’em. i’m ready to start—how about you?” said ray, as he gathered his precious model up under his arms and started for the door. jack followed him and the lobsterman, after a glance about the cottage and a last poke at the dying fire in the stove, followed the two boys.
the moment they emerged, the lads had to brace themselves to keep from being blown[219] down. the wind swooped around the corner of the little cottage and tore at their garments madly, while the big raindrops beat into their faces.
“jiminy, some storm”, growled ray as he forced his so’wester down over his eyes.
“hit’s blowin’ some ’at,” assured the lobsterman as he pulled his collar up higher and stumped forward in the lead of the little party.
jack was on the point of making an appropriate remark also, but the wind snatched the words from between his teeth, it seemed, and he decided after that to conserve his energies for the fight against the storm.
mitchell apparently followed some sort of a path through the forest that clad the top of the island, for he wound his way in and out among the trees in a peculiar manner. but if there was a path, the boys could not detect it. all they did was follow the one-legged old man who silently fought his way against the wind. although the pine trees were many and their foliage thick, the wind seemed just as strong in the woods as out in the little opening around the lobsterman’s cottage. it blew a veritable[220] hurricane, it seemed to jack, and the tall trees bent and swayed in a most awe-inspiring manner. in truth, branches were literally torn from some of them and here and there the lads found a big timber that had been uprooted and flung aside by the elements exactly as if it had been no heavier than a clump of bay berry bushes.
on through this wind-lashed forest they plodded, watching constantly to keep out of harm’s way for they realized that to be in the path of one of the falling trees would be the end of them. on and on they forced their way, backs bent and faces shielded as much as possible against the stinging rain. minutes seemed like hours and hours eternal, so slow was their progress. how long they fought the elements the boys could not guess, but gradually as they worked their way across the island a new note was added to the terrible growl of the storm and it gave the lads a better idea of their location. it was the boom of the breakers upon cobra reef.
they were nearing the ocean side of the island now. jack began to detect familiar sections of the woods, in spite of the storm. he[221] also knew that they were approaching the top of the promontory upon which the lighthouse was located, for they had begun to climb a rather steep slope. on they toiled, their way growing harder as they advanced, until suddenly they were struck by a gust of wind that almost hurled them off their feet. then jack knew that they had left the forest and entered the clearing about the construction camp.
past the blacksmith shop and the bunk-house they trudged, until they came to the long mess-hall. along the lee wall of this building they made their way until they came to the path that led to the lighthouse. here they paused and before leaving the shelter of the building, took a survey of the situation.
and as jack looked toward the beacon he caught sight of a big group of men huddled in the shelter of the pile of granite blocks near the steel tower of the cable-way. there must have been fifty or more in the crowd and all were dressed in oilskins or overcoats.
“look, there’s the whole camp. what’s wrong? what’s going on out there? something’s happened on the rock, i’ll bet. they are looking out to sea!”
[222]
“sure enough. what do you suppose is the matter?” exclaimed ray, as he too caught sight of the men.
“matter! matter! why noo, lad, hit could be something wrong on cobra ’ead, but t’ my judgment hits like as not a wessel what’s comin’ ashore, like es ’ow t’ schooner jessie joy did two years back. she came ashore down t’ sow’east hend o’ t’ hisland an’ was lifted ower t’ reef an’ thirty feet hup onto t’ rocks an’ smashed t’ kindlin’ afore ’e could say scat. yes-siree, not a man ner a stick as was saved an’—”
“jiminy, do you suppose it’s a wreck?” shouted jack. then pulling his hat down over his eyes he shouted:
“come on!”
and in a moment all three were fighting their way up the slope toward the men in the lee of the stone pile.
so loud was the roar of the storm and boom of the surf and so intent were the men on whatever they were watching out at sea that none of them heard the three arrive. indeed, they did not know of the lads’ presence until jack stopped alongside of mr. warner, who[223] was on the outside of the group, and clutched his arm.
“why, jack, thank goodness you’re here—and here’s ray, too. we thought sure you had been caught in this storm. all safe? good. and here’s mr. mitchell again. brought ’em safely back once more, just as you did from frenchman’s point. fine—we were getting worried but—”
“what’s going on, anyway? what’s the trouble?” interrupted jack, who had been peering out into the storm.
“what’s the matter? why there’s a vessel out there fighting its last fight, i guess, and trying to keep off the reef. storm’s a little too thick now. when it quiets for a few moments you’ll be able to see her. both masts are gone and—there, there! see her! look quick before the storm shuts in again!”
the lads looked and, sure enough, out beyond the reef they saw the battered hulk of a vessel being tossed about on the big waves like a cork. only two stumps remained of the masts and the wreckage of sails and spars dragged over the sides and into the sea. the bowsprit had been snapped, too, but on the[224] stump of what remained was the little pulpit-like affair that characterized the vessel as a swordfisherman.
“why she’s a swordfisherman,” exclaimed jack.
“right, by george, i hadn’t discovered that before, and she looks mighty familiar in—”
“good lands, it’s the fish hawk,” cried ray in distressed tones. “it’s uncle vance and his crew. i—i—by hookey, he’s in a tight fix, too. i guess it’s all up with him now! he’ll be on the reef sure! nothing to give him steerage way! he’s helpless!”
“by george, it is your uncle, ray. and he sure is up against it, too. there’s nothing we can do either,” said mr. warner unhappily. “he’s too far out for us to get a line to him. we have the cannon out. it’s tucked under the stone pile here. we’re trying to keep it dry. maybe if he comes on to the reef and the ship holds together long enough we can get a breeches-buoy rigged. but it looks to me as if the fish hawk will go to pieces the moment it hits that line of rocks. look at those breakers pile up! did you ever see anything like it? a battleship couldn’t stand up under the[225] pounding those waves would give her. everything has been washed off cobra head except the lighthouse foundation stones. the cableway tower is bent and crippled and all the derricks are gone. so are the tool boxes and all the tools. we’re in a bad way out there. it will take us two weeks to recover from this storm.”
in truth, the jagged reef with the cobra’s head at the end was terrible to look upon. waves thirty feet in height were hurling themselves against the rugged granite boulders, as if seeking to drive the stony barrier deep into the ocean. but the reef resisted the onslaughts and great towers of water shot aloft as the breakers burst with a hiss and a roar against the immovable stone. jack realized the terrible crushing power behind the tons of water, and he knew that there was little hope of the fish hawk staying whole once she grounded on the reef.
close and closer to its terrible fate drove the helpless yawl while the men on the cliff looked on in grim silence. sometimes the rain came down so hard and fast that the doomed vessel was shut from view. but each time[226] the storm abated they could see that the sturdy little craft had been driven nearer to the horrible end that awaited it.
yet with the fight almost lost the swordfishermen had not surrendered. both jack and ray could see a man still clinging to the wheel while several others crawled about the careening decks and sought to build a jury rig on the stump of the foremast. with but a few square feet of canvas to give the vessel steerage way, there was still the barest chance of saving her. but no human beings could hope to work the battered little craft in such an angry sea. any moment one of the ugly waves that swept the decks might catch them off guard and sweep them over the side like so many match sticks.
jack, and every other man on the promontory for that matter, stood spellbound. here before their very eyes were a dozen human beings going to certain death and no power on earth could stop them. it was appalling. jack shuddered.
“oh, can’t something be done? can’t we get a line to them?” he asked, clutching mr. warner’s arm.
[227]
“i’m afraid not, son,” said mr. warner, choking with emotion. “it’s terrible, but we’re powerless. they are too far off. we’ll have to wait until they strike and then perhaps we may be able to do something.”
“poor uncle vance. i feel mighty sorry for him. and bannerman too, poor fellow, and mack and duncan. heaven help ’em. it’s the end of ’em all,” cried ray as he watched the storm-tossed fish hawk drive toward her doom.
she was only fifty feet off the reef now—one wave length separated her from eternity. the angry water swirled about her. great clots of spume were hurled at her by the lashing wind, and white water washed her deck from end to end.
“oh, it’s terrible, terrible!” sobbed ray. “if we could only help ’em. if—look, look! they’ll strike. that big wave was too much for ’em! the next wave will do it! there they go—they’re on the reef—no, no, they sheered off—they didn’t strike—but—but—oh! great goodness, look—look—it’s horrible!”
crash!
[228]
a great wave had seized the helpless vessel, lifted it high aloft and hurled it down across the jagged rocks. the sound of rending timbers could be heard even above the roar of the storm. the fish hawk had been cut completely in half by the granite ridge and in a fraction of a second the hull of the yawl had been shattered to kindlings. only a mass of wave-tossed wreckage marked the place where it had foundered.
for a moment the men on the promontory seemed stunned by the hideous sight they had witnessed. then as they realized that the vessel and the men had been blotted from existence entirely, several of them groaned aloud and turned away. but the next instant they were startled by a cry.
“look! look! jack, o’brien, look, there’s a head, there’s a man, two of ’em, three of ’em inside the reef; struggling; swimming. they are trying for the beach. come on, we’ll save ’em. come!” ray bounded down the crooked path that led to the narrow strip of beach and jack and big o’brien followed him, with the rest of the men trailing out behind. even old mitchell stumped down the path, although he[229] could not keep pace with the rest of the party.
ray reached the sandy strip first and began tugging at one of the two whaleboats which had been tossed high and dry on the beach by the storm. others rushed to help him, some manning the boat while others tried to launch it. and meanwhile off toward the reef the three men struggled desperately. on they swam, battling with the stubborn, though not so violent, waves inside. sometimes their heads were above the water and sometimes great curling white caps dashed over them and forced them under, but they were fighting for their lives and they meant to keep afloat until aid arrived.
slowly but surely the horde of lighthouse builders forced the heavy whaleboat, loaded with the rescue party, toward the water. inch by inch, foot by foot until at last one of the curling waves reached under its bow and gave them assistance. another wave and it was launched. then in a twinkle a dozen oars were shipped and the boat was under way. ray was in the bow, looking anxiously out toward the struggling swimmers, and jack was[230] in the stern beside big o’brien, who clutched the tiller.
under the strokes of the brawny laborers the heavy boat shot forward, bow on, into the angry seas that curled shoreward. but for all the strength behind those hickory timbers and all the sturdiness of the vessel’s oaken sides, it was a question whether it could live in even the seas behind the reef. it tossed about like an eggshell and the angry waves clutched at either side and pulled it here and there in spite of the efforts of the rowers.
but slowly they urged her forward toward the swimmers. on and on it forged, each stroke cutting down the distance between the fighting fishermen and their rescuers. they were fifty feet away, now forty, now thirty! only a little way farther. only a few strokes more!
“pull! pull!” cried ray from the bow. “here’s one! pull! it’s duncan, good old duncan—he’s all in! pull! whoope-e-e—! saved!”
ray reached over the side and seized the all but unconscious man, and with what appeared to be a superhuman effort, hauled him into the[231] boat and let him fall into a limp, soggy mass in the bottom, just behind the forward oarsman.
“pull! pull! don’t stop—here’s another. it’s beck—beck crawford. we’ve got to save him! he has a wife and some kiddies! pull! pull! here! some one help me! i can’t lift him! come quick!”
the forward oarsman dropped his blade and climbing to ray’s side helped to drag beck aboard.
“all right! keep it up! here’s another! it’s—it’s—oh, it’s uncle vance. pull! pull! he’s sinking, he’s sink—i’ve got him! help me here! heave-o! good!”
then as ray laid the limp form in the bottom of the boat with the others, he said with a peculiar catch in his voice:
“poor uncle vance, he looks like he’s most dead.”
