Читать книгу Mystery Island - Percy Francis Westerman - Страница 6

Table of Contents

“Believe you’re right,” said Brian.

“Believe! I know I am this time,” rejoined his Then raising his voice he called, “Peter! Peter!”

There was a brief silence. Probably three or four seconds elapsed before the sound could travel to and fro. Then the call was answered, not by the previous sort of mournful wail, but by the deep-voiced bark that the chums had no hesitation in recognising as Peter’s.

Feverishly they set to work to dismantle the rough and ready tent and to take to the oars. Just as they were on the point of casting off the painter, Chris, in his slow, deliberate style, made a suggestion.

“Hadn’t we better leave the lantern on the raft? We’ll never be able to find it again if we don’t have a light to guide us back.”

“Rather,” agreed Alec. “Keep her alongside a minute.”

Lantern in hand, the senior apprentice jumped on to the raft and wedged the light between two planks.

“Give way!” he ordered, as he regained the boat. “We’ve only the sound to steer by.”

Brian and Chris bent to their oars. The whaler started on her vague quest, Alec, the while, shouting encouragement to the animal and calling it by name.

For quite ten minutes the search gave no promise of success. The dog’s barks seemed more and more elusive. Already the light on the raft seemed ever so far away.

“Lay on your oars,” cautioned Alec, “and listen!”

“Sound comes from over there!” declared Brian, pointing away on the starboard bow.

“Seems to me it’s from there,” said Chris, indicating a position on the starboard quarter.

“I believe you’re right,” asserted Alec. “Stroke ahead, we’ll swing her round.”

Gradually the dog’s bark sounded nearer and nearer. By this time the boat’s bows were pointing almost in the direction of the light on the raft.

“See anything?” enquired Brian anxiously, as Alec peered through the darkness.

“Want the eyes of a cat to see through this,” protested the coxswain. “Keep her going; we can’t be far off. We’ll have Peter aboard in a jiffy.”

In his own mind Alec felt none too sure about it. The dog’s barks were becoming feebler. It seemed little short of a miracle that the animal, powerful though he was, could keep afloat for all that length of time.

Then, “Way ‘nough!” shouted Alec. “In bow! We’re almost on top of him.”

The warning was followed by a decided jar as the whaler’s forefoot bumped against what proved to be a large grating, part of which dipped below the surface. On it was a dark confused mass, that on closer acquaintance proved to be the body of a man with Peter, now feebly delirious with joy, crouching by his side.

But the animal made no effort to leave the frail structure until the chums had, by dint of great exertion, lifted the body into the boat. Then, and only then, did Peter suffer himself to be hauled into safety, when, after a determined effort to lick Alec’s face, he flopped literally down and out.

“It’s the Old Man!” exclaimed Brian. “Is he alive?”

“Can’t say,” replied Alec. “You stand by and keep the light on the raft in sight. If we lose it, we’re in a fix. Now, Chris, bear a hand.”

Within the narrow limits of the stern-sheets two of them set to work to attempt to resuscitate the captain of the ill-fated Cosmos. But all efforts were fruitless. Captain Duncan McFail had no further use for his Extra Master’s ticket.

When at length the boat regained the raft any vestige of doubt became a certainty. The Old Man had not been drowned. Apparently he had succeeded in getting clear when the ship was thrown on her beam ends, and was swimming strongly when the grating, which had been carried down to a great depth by the sinking vessel, had suddenly shot to the surface, dealing him a terrific blow on the head as it did so. Almost as certain was the conjecture that Peter, swimming to the grating, had prevented the captain’s body rolling off; but his devoted effort had been in vain.

As for Peter, he made a rapid recovery, and when Alec had given him a little of the scanty stock of water, the dog, refusing the mouldy biscuit, curled up and went to sleep until daybreak.

With dawn came a steady northerly breeze. It was too good to be wasted, especially as it was favourable for a westerly course.

But before setting sail, the captain’s body had to be committed to the deep. It was a melancholy task. The Old Man’s gold watch, on which was an inscription to the effect that it had been presented by the Dutch Government to Chief Officer Duncan McFail for his great gallantry in rescuing the crew of the Draak in the North Sea in January, 1913, they kept. Although ruined by immersion in salt water, the watch was a certificate of courage. If possible, it would be handed over to the captain’s widow, should Alec and his chums win through.

There was nothing else either of value or utility, for with the exception of a bunch of keys, the Old Man’s other pockets were empty.

Setting sail by daylight was a simple task. Originally the whaler had been yawl-rigged, but for some reason the mizzen had been done away with, and in place of the powerful but unhandy dipping lug, a loose-footed standing lug had been substituted. This, together with a moderate-sized jib, made quite a handy working rig, especially as there were only three people in the boat to tend sheet and take the helm.

Soon the whaler was bowling along at a steady five knots, with the foam hissing at her bows and a long, straight wake astern.

The chums revelled in the situation. Hunger, thirst, the loss of their comrades, were all but forgotten—dispersed, like a bad dream when day dawns, by the strong, exhilarating, salt-laden breeze.

Throughout the day the breeze held. No peak showed above the horizon. Sea and sky met in an unbroken circle. Not a bird was to be seen—an indication that gave no promise of land.

Just before sunset Alec served out the second meal that day—a piece of chocolate and one biscuit divided into four equal pieces; for, by common consent, it was resolved that Peter should share in the meagre fare. After that each member of the crew was given about half a pint of water.

“I reckon we’re seventy miles nearer somewhere than we were this morning,” remarked Brian.

“Unless we’re plugging against a strong current,” rejoined Alec. “We’ve no means of telling that. Wish we had a chart. Well, look lively, lads. We’ll knock down a reef. It’s better to be safe than sorry, and if it does come on to blow in the night, we’ll be prepared.”

Accordingly canvas was reduced. Then, using two precious matches, they lighted a candle and placed it in the binnacle of the crazy compass.

“You two turn in,” suggested Alec. “Brian, you’ll relieve me at eight bells, or as near to it as we can guess.”

Brian and Chris needed no second invitation. They were tired out, for during the day the heat of the sun, as its rays beat down upon the open boat, rendered sleep impossible. Within a couple of minutes both were in a dead slumber.

Left to himself, Alec prepared for a lonely vigil. Yet there was Peter to share his long trick. The dog insisted on sitting at the helmsman’s feet and resting his massive head on Alec’s knees. With Peter in the boat there was little chance of approaching land without the dog giving timely warning. In the Cosmos the animal hardly ever looked over the side unless a landfall was expected. Then, long before the look-out raised the shout of “Land ahead!” Peter would be standing with his forepaws on the bulwarks, sniffing appreciatively at the as yet invisible shore.

As the darkness set in the stars shone brilliantly. Alec was already too old a hand in a boat to strain his eyes needlessly by peering at the dimly illuminated compass. All that was necessary was to take the bearing ahead of a star low down on the horizon, and keep the pinprick of light in line with the boat’s forestay. Occasionally a glance at the compass served to correct any material difference in the course.

The wind still held, though diminishing in force. All around the boat the surface of the dark water was dotted with momentary flashes of phosphorescent light as fish, both large and small, played the part of attendants upon the three argonauts.

Once a huge albatross swooped down, its long curved beak stretched enquiringly in the direction of the boat. Peter gave a low growl. The bird, disappointed of a meal, disappeared with a resentful flapping of its enormous wings.

Slowly the hours passed. Alec made no attempt to arouse his relief. Both his chums were sleeping so soundly that he had not the heart to wake them. He was desperately hungry. The almost irresistible temptation to eat some of his own biscuits assailed him. After all, prompted the tempter, they are yours. If you hadn’t taken the precaution to bring them with you, you would all be hungry. Why not profit by your forethought?

Resolutely thrusting the suggestion aside, Alec carried on. Presently the almost overwhelming pangs of hunger passed, to be followed by a period of utter drowsiness. Again and again his head drooped lower and lower until his chin rested on his chest; then with a disconcerting start he realised that he was within an ace of committing that most unpardonable sin—sleeping on watch.

Once he unwittingly let the boat come up into the wind, and was warned of the fact by the flapping of the canvas—like a succession of pistol-shots. Even then Brian and Chris did not stir in their sleep.

Almost before he realised that his long vigil was nearing completion, grey dawn appeared. In a few minutes it was daylight.

“The last few hours have gone jolly quick,” thought Alec. “Unless I’ve been asleep. It’s time to wake up those lazy hogs! Turn out the hands of the watch, Peter!”

The dog needed no second bidding. A wet mop placed on Brian’s face would not have done the trick more quickly than Peter’s moist tongue. Curtiss sat up with a start, gazed wonderingly at the sky, and then at the wan face of his chum at the helm.

“Why, it’s broad daylight!” he exclaimed. “What’s the game, Alec? Why didn’t you turn me out to stand my trick?”

“Didn’t want to spoil your beauty sleep, my lad. Hello, Chris! Merry and bright and all that?”

“I say——!” began Alderson, labouring under the delusion that he was in his bunk on board the Cosmos, and had not fallen in with the rest of the world. Then, none too hastily, he realised his surroundings. With a prodigious yawn, Chris sat up and stretched his arms.

Even as he did so, there was a thud that shook the whaler from stem to stern, and, like the thrust of a rapier, a long slender object penetrated the planking, its point exactly where Chris’s head would have been had he not just shifted his position.