CHAPTER X.
THE SILVER KING.
Within half an hour the mysterious trail of smoke along the keys was obliterated, although it was not far in advance of the Arrow’s course. Even before the boys had ceased to wonder what it really was, it seemed to vanish from sight as if blown away by a puff of wind, leaving them nothing but their useless speculation.
Presently they became aware of a new motion of the staunch little Arrow. It rode easily upon long, slow, oily swells, rising and sinking at a rate that soon caused the unhappy Seminole to stagger into the little cuddy of a cabin, with a look on his leathery face which prophesied that one Indian was about to be utterly and unrestrainedly seasick!
“Poor Dave!” said Norton, as the victim’s figure slouched dejectedly into a secluded corner. “I can sympathize with him, though I’m lucky enough not to know how he feels!”
“How about you, Billy, you land-lubber?” inquired Alec. “You’re beginning to look a trifle pale around the gills!”
“Shut up!” retorted Billy good-naturedly.
“Nice thing to tell a fellow, I must say!” remarked Chester with a grin.
“It’s enough to make anyone feel seasick, to be told he looks so!” Hugh added laughing. “Give a dog a bad name, and he’ll bite—just to save his reputa——”
“Something else is biting!” yelled Billy, and he sprang forward eagerly.
There was a rattling noise behind them. The captain, abandoning the wheel for a moment, reached forth and grabbed a tarpon rod that was sliding overboard. He thrust it into Alec’s hand.
“Hang on to it,” he gruffly directed. “You’ve got somethin’ big, lad. Mebbe, though, it’s only a shark.”
“Only a shark!” echoed Alec in surprise. “Why, I thought sharks were enormous!”
“There’s all kinds o’ sharks, big an’ little.”
“I’ve heard of land sharks,” murmured Norton, “and seen ’em, too; but I’ve never met with a sea shark. At least, I’ve never been on speaking terms with one.”
“This one pulls like a whale!” Alec declared, playing the long line, one hand on the reel.
Seeing that his own pole was all right, Billy remained close beside Alec, ready to lend a hand if Alec needed assistance. For a while none was needed, but by and by it began to appear that the fish was tiring the fisherman, instead of just the reverse. Alec’s wrists and forearms positively ached with the strain of managing the prize, and he allowed Billy to help him. All stood around, tense with interest, watching the contest. Even Dave, hearing their gleeful shouts and exclamations, forgot his misery and came forth from the cuddy to add his grunts and mumbled directions. However, he was unable to remain long on deck. With a portentous groan, he fled again to contend with his woes.
As the sloop plunged onward, they played the fish nearly an hour, taking turns so that all might share in the sport. Twice, by a skilful handling of the reel, Hugh barely kept the line from snapping. At last they drew the game in far enough to see a gleam of silver flash through the dark green water. A big tarpon leaped out of the bosom of a wave, glittered one moment in the sunlight, and then darted back into its native element.
“Gee! Did you see him?”
“Did I! Well, you bet I did!”
“Must be a fifty pounder!”
“All of that. No wonder he pulls so hard!”
“Keep your hand on the reel, Chester. He’ll snap the line if we’re not careful,” advised Norton. “Easy now! He’s tired, but there is a lot of fight in him yet.”
“Ginger! I should say so! Look at that!”
Again the big fish leaped.
“Where’s Dave with the gaff?” demanded Captain Vinton. “Dave, you lazy, good-fer-nothin’ sea-cook, come up here. Bring that gaff.”
Another frantic leap of the tarpon, not so high this time, brought a shout from Alec.
“Oh, you Dave! Hurry up!”
But the Indian just then was dead to this world. Not even a groan gave assurance that he was still alive and miserable. Silence hung over the deck of the Arrow, silence broken only by the excited gasps of her fishing crew.
Convinced that Dave would not or could not respond to the call, Vinton lashed the tiller, and reached into a locker from which he brought out the gaff. He prepared to use it as soon as the tarpon came within reach.
But there was more strength than he supposed in the tiring yet gamey sea-fighter. Out spun the line from the humming reel; to and fro darted the silver prize, until more than a dozen yards lay between him and the Arrow’s gunwale.
“Reel in, reel in!” cried Norton. “Don’t give him a chance to jerk away.”
“Slow up a little!” the captain added quickly, leaning as far out over the rail as his portly proportions would allow. He was almost as eager as any of the boys. He had forgotten his dignity as master of the Arrow, and was lost in the excitement of capturing a fifty pounder.
“Slow now. That’s better—ah! He nearly got away then!”
Just about this time Hugh heard a sudden rasp of line spinning from his rod, which lay on the opposite side of the deck, wedged under another thwart.
“Hello! that pole will go overboard unless I do something,” he cried, and sprang forward to seize it as it slid toward the taffrail. He managed to catch it at the instant that the butt was about to slip oceanward. “Oh, come here!” he called out. “Another tarpon hooked!”
Thrusting the rod into Alec’s hands once more, Billy crossed over to join Hugh.
“Ready there now?” he heard Captain Vinton ask in a loud tone. And then came Chester’s eager, “A little nearer, Alec, a little nearer. There!”
Vinton made a lunge with the gaff.
“Durn him! He dodged it!” exclaimed the captain in great vexation.
“Try it again,” urged Norton cheerily. “Better luck next time.”
Meanwhile, on their side of the sloop, Hugh and Billy were having their hands full. One was trying to gain command of the reel, and the other was keeping a firm hold on the pole. So absorbed were they in this feat, they were oblivious to a sudden veer of the wind and an increased rolling of the Arrow. Hugh’s reel was buzzing furiously. With staring eyes he watched the line cut through the water, and every minute he and Billy expected to see a tarpon just as big as the first one leap from a wave.
They heard a shout, followed by a splash and the spasmodic flapping of a big fish landed on the deck, and they knew that the first tarpon had been caught. But they scarcely turned their heads to look. Their whole attention was given to this one.
Suddenly the captain, becoming aware of the wind flurry, sprang to the wheel.
“Look out, boys!” he cried hoarsely. “She’s going to jibe! Watch out, you two there!”
Startled, Billy glanced around and instantly realized the new peril; but Hugh, absorbed with holding the fish and saving his line, saw nothing. At Billy’s warning, however, he ducked his head just in time to escape a sweeping blow from the big boom which swung over the starboard beam, requiring Vinton to take a new tack. Still holding his line, desperately hoping that it would not break, Hugh began to reel in his prize swiftly and skilfully. Ordinarily he would not have tried this, but with the shifting of the vessel’s course he felt there was no time to spare. Besides, his tarpon seemed to have been more securely hooked than the first one, and Billy now knew just what to do. After about ten minutes of struggle, they succeeded in pulling up on deck a fish that was only a few inches smaller than the other, and their exploit was greeted with a cheer.
“Stow the shoutin’, lads!” ordered Captain Vinton. “Here! Take the sheet. That easter is a hummer, I reckon. Be ready to lower the peaks, Norton, if I give the word.”
Hugh, Alec, and Chester sprang for the main sheet, loosening it promptly. Billy stood ready to help Norton. The captain pushed the tiller away from the “nor’-easter,” and surveyed with “a weather eye” the rolling expanse of waters now darkened by frequent “flaws.”
“We’re right in the wake of a squall,” he stated calmly. “Keep cool, every mother’s son o’ you-all. Where’s that copper-hide rascal, Dave? In the cuddy, eh? Well, this’ll either kill him or cure him!”
CHAPTER XI.
DOWN THE COAST.
For the next few minutes the Arrow ran so much risk of having the sails blown off or the mast broken, that all rejoicing over the capture of the two big tarpon was banished by the imminence of the danger. Flaw after flaw darkened the water, flattening the long swells; but at length the squall passed, and once out of a broad inlet, the sloop headed straight down the coast under a good breeze.
“What for so much hurry?” grumbled Dave, emerging from the cabin, and looking around quizzically. “Huh! Plenty time.”
“Oh, we’re in no hurry, Dave,” answered Hugh with a laugh. “This is just sailing for sport. You’ll like it after a while when you get more used to it. Go and sit up fore, to windward.”
Dave meekly obeyed.
“A whiff of this salt air will do him good,” said Norton to the captain, who, ignoring Dave entirely, vouchsafed no reply.
He appeared to be pondering some contingency of which his crew were unaware. He spat profusely, cast his eyes aloft at the topsails that had not been lowered despite the squall, then looked measuringly at his sloop.
“Wind’s slackening,” he observed.
Hitherto heading southward, the Arrow now began to edge toward the long line of keys. By this time the wind had gradually dwindled almost to a breath, and the sun hung far down the Western sky, glowing like a disc of molten copper.
“Bad weather comin’,” croaked Dave, noting these signs. “One day, two day off, p’raps.”
This gloomy prophecy was received in silence. No one thought it safe or worth while to deny the assertion.
Presently they came abreast of a fringe of larger keys fronting an important harbor. Beyond the broad inlet that led in toward the bay and mainland, a stretch of smooth, clean, white sand, bordered by clumps of waving cabbage palms, indicated to Captain Vinton that he was near one of his old camping places.
“I’m goin’ to stop over thar for supper,” he called to the boys. “We might better spend the night on shore, for there’ll be wind ag’in and rough water later on.”
So the Arrow made in shoreward. The four boys reefed her jib and her topsail and stood ready to reef the main sheet. When everything had been attended to on board the sloop and the anchor had been cast, all piled into a big dory trailing astern.
“‘Pull for the shore, boys, pull for the shore!’” sang Norton in a rollicking voice. And they did. Soon they were preparing supper on the beach.
“There’s squalls breedin’ out yonder,” remarked the captain after supper while lighting his corncob pipe. “After dark I’d ruther have these keys atween ’em and us. But perhaps they’ll blow over. Yon can’t never tell for sure, at this time o’ year.”
Unpromising as the weather seemed, the evening passed without anything happening to cause discomfort. The storm clouds drifted past, giving way to a host of brilliant stars that took possession of the heavens, and to a steady westerly breeze that bid fair to continue all night. The captain and the Seminole guide, wrapping themselves in blankets which had been brought ashore in the dory, dozed beside the driftwood fire. The four boys and Roy Norton, however, enjoyed a swim in the lagoon before they sought their own blankets and “turned in” for a good night’s rest. Their bunks were snug hollows scooped out of the sand, warm and dry, a few feet away from the glowing embers.
At sunrise the breeze freshened a little, but the weather was balmy. The first rays of the rising sun woke the voyagers, and the boys would have been sorry had they missed seeing the gorgeous semi-tropical dawn burst upon the world. The sky was one vast, rosy glow, and the ocean glittered with opalescent hues. Low islands, overgrown with close, green, stunted vegetation, were on every side. They stretched like golden bars across the lagoons, showing the broad sound on one side and on the other the dark blue of the Gulf Stream, far out where the Florida Straits widened toward the distant Bahamas.
When the sun was an hour high, they breakfasted on fruit, fish, toast, and coffee. That simple repast over, they gathered up their belongings and prepared to return to the sloop. Quite unexpectedly, an idea crept into Dave’s sluggish mind:
“Good moon last night, much white beach, turtle come out and lay eggs,” he remarked slowly. “P’raps we find eggs. Might try.”
He rose and strolled lazily along the beach, accompanied by the four young scouts.
“Maybe bear will walk beach after eggs,” he added presently. “Young master run back, get rifle.”
“Wait for me, then,” said Alec, and he ran back to the camping place. Returning in a few minutes, he handed the rifle to Dave. “If we meet a bear, you can shoot him,” he said. “I don’t want to, even if I could.”
Dave gave a low chuckle. “Oh, guess we won’t find bear till night,” he said. “We just go look for signs now.”
Signs proved to be fairly plentiful; so it was decided, to the unseaworthy Indian’s great satisfaction, to remain there that day, hunt at night and set sail early on the morrow. The day passed pleasantly, though uneventfully, and, after supper, Captain Vinton went aboard the Arrow. Dave sat up while the others took “forty winks” before being roused for the night hunt. At the rising of the moon, they all set forth in single file, and crossed the little island by an old trail through the chaparral to the ocean side. There they found a firm, wide, sandy strip of shore on which a low surf was murmuring its continuous song. The moon sailed higher and higher, the night was delightfully warm and calm, and there was an excellent prospect of finding game.
Telling Norton, Chester and Hugh to hide in the scrubby growth that fringed a sand dune, Dave took Alec and Billy along the beach for about fifty yards. In the full moonlight they could see quite plainly the curious wobbly trail, rough and broad, of a large turtle, leading to and from the water. Dave followed it for a few paces, then stopped abruptly and began to prod the sand with a stick which he had picked up for that purpose.
“Got ’em! Got eggs!” he announced presently. “Big nest heap full.”
“All right,” said Alec. “Now we’d better go back to where the others are, and wait for the hungry old——”
“By and by moon go down,” interposed the guide, with an unusual degree of interest. “Then bear may come out for walk,—get his supper, huh? Come.”
They went back to the place of ambush, and waited quietly. How long they waited not one of them could tell exactly. It seemed hours. At last their patience was rewarded. A clumsy black form emerged from the thick vegetation on the dunes, stood motionless for several minutes sniffing the air, and then ambled slowly and cautiously toward the water, pausing now and then to nose the warm sand.
“It’s a bear, and he smells our tracks,” whispered Hugh.
“Will he find the nest?” Billy asked, nudging Dave with his elbow.
“Sure, he find it all right,” was the whispered reply of the Indian. “When turtle make nest, lay eggs, scent is stronger than what we leave. Watch him. You can—huh, look!”
The small black bear had stopped near the turtle’s nest, and now it uttered a soft grunting squeal of delight. It half raised itself on its hind quarters, looking around warily to make sure it would not have to share the feast with any other of its tribe. Then, quite suddenly, it dropped down on all fours, and lunging forward, began to scoop up the eggs with its paws, smacking its lips greedily.
Dave raised the rifle, took deliberate aim, and—— Just then Hugh pushed the weapon aside with a quick movement of his arm.
“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot it!” gasped the lad, excitedly. “See,—over there in that clump of bushes!”
With a muttered exclamation, Dave glanced in the direction that Hugh was pointing. The others did likewise. They then beheld a sight which was far more interesting and more worth while than that of a harmless animal lying dead upon the sand, victim of Dave’s marksmanship.
Two little black cubs, scarcely larger than terriers, but much rounder, chubbier and more furry, trotted out from the shadow of the dune and waddled toward their feasting mother. As fast as their short legs would carry them, they ran to her side and fell to gobbling up the remaining eggs. When the nest had been emptied, Ursula and her cubs romped together on the moonlit beach, and, finally, walked away, unharmed.
Well pleased with the amusing scene they had witnessed, the hunters returned to their camp site, went to sleep presently, and on the morrow rejoined Captain Vinton on the sloop.
CHAPTER XII.
AT THE LIGHTHOUSE.
On the whole, the boys were enthusiastic about their cruise at the end of the first week. After camping again for a day or two on Palm Island, they sailed idly among innumerable smaller islands, enjoying the fine weather, bathing, fishing, taking photographs, learning how to manage the sloop, and making observations of other ships that passed.
“The Captain says that by running to starboard more we can strike the lee of Elbow Key Light to-morrow,” Norton said, as he and the boys were turning into their bunks at nine o’clock one night. “You know that’s where the sponging fleet work at this time, so, in case of storm, they can shelter under the lighthouse key. How would you like to spend to-morrow night among the spongers, then make camp at Cypress Key afterward?”
All were agreeable save Dave, who grunted his disapproval.
“What for fool ’way time ’mong sponges? No good. We going to try for sponge? No? Well, why fool time that way? Holawanga! Too much time, no good!”
But they gave him not the slightest heed, and discussed the new plan with enthusiasm.
The next day was marred by a heavy thunderstorm, but in spite of it they made good progress down the coast. As the afternoon waned and the line of keys dwindled behind, the Arrow headed toward a group of islets where the United States has erected a lighthouse.
The keepers there were isolated from home and friends most of the time, but a straggly fleet of sponging craft from Nassau, Key West, and elsewhere flocked there in time of bad weather.
As night came on, the breeze freshened considerably. Across the surging water the light flashed like a great star. Once the Arrow sighted a dark bulk, black and impenetrable as the night then closing down, yet with rows of lights and with smoking funnels that now and then seemed to glow with internal fires. On it passed, heading straight for Elbow Key, but it gave no heed to the wallowing little sloop.
“By Jove, that’s a battleship!” exclaimed Norton. “In war paint, too!”
“Je-ru-sa-lem!” Hugh added excitedly. “Wish we were nearer her! Wonder which one she is?”
“We ain’t so interested in that, jest now,” said Captain Vinton gruffly. “What we want to do is to git under a lee shore soon’s possible; there’s a reg-lar young gale comin’ on.”
Through a haze that slowly thickened as the wind increased, they saw several sloops and schooners, most of them larger than the Arrow, riding at short cables; while a few others were driving under reefed sails from the sponging grounds farther out, to take similar positions of safety.
“Stand by to shorten sail,” ordered Vinton, and the boys and Norton worked busily. Dave gave his attention to a big coil of rope which he evidently intended to throw—where?
Surely not against the rocky wall toward which they were gliding recklessly!
Alec looked anxiously at the captain, but he did not speak. If Dave did not know what he was about this was no time to question. Like his comrades, the boy resigned himself to obeying orders. These came thick and fast for a few minutes. Hugh and Chester, having lowered and lashed the jib, stood beside Norton—waiting. To Billy it seemed that the Arrow would momentarily strike that reef of rocks.
Suddenly the captain ported the helm three points.
“Haul in the booms! Lower tops’l!” he shouted.
Mechanically, in a sort of daze, they obeyed. The next minute they saw a perpendicular crevice in the face of the rock wall about twenty feet high. This fissure widened until a sheer cleft nearly thirty feet wide yawned directly in the path of the Arrow. Then they understood what the captain was driving at. Here was an ideal shelter from the coming storm.
“Lower away all!”
Almost before they realized the fact, the Arrow had glided into the crevice and was floating on a small sheet of smooth water, all sails lowered. Tugging at the anchor, Billy stood ready, waiting only the word.
“Drop anchor!” sang out Vinton, his deep voice echoing weirdly in that strange retreat.
“How much cable, Captain?”
“Fifty feet. Dave, toss the line over to that little dock.”
This was quickly done, the rope being caught by a man who had come on the run as soon as he had seen the Arrow slip into this protected cove. Tying it fast to a pile, he rose and bawled through his cupped hands:
“That you, Lem?”
“Ay, ay, Johnny,” responded Vinton. “I didn’t fergit this stunt, you see.”
“That’s right. The Arrow’s the only sloop small enough to get in. Comin’ ashore?”
“Yep; by an’ by.”
Presently they all climbed down a rope ladder into the Arrow’s dory, which swung alongside, and went up to the lighthouse. All but Dave, who, strange to say, considering his dislike of being on the water, preferred to spend the night in the cuddy.
Outside the cove the wind howled with a fury that nearly swamped some of the anchored craft. Indeed, it flung spray and foam over their rigging, and made them tug desperately at their cables. Now they rose swaying on the crests of the waves, now they sank into the deep troughs as if they were bent on going to the bottom. Yet in the little rock-bound cove the lighthouse boats and the Arrow were secure and safe.
In the house, after supper, the voyagers sat and talked with their host. The lighthouse keeper’s name was John Bowling, and he was a brother-in-law of Captain Anderson of the Red Key Life Saving Station. So, naturally, he was interested in hearing about the rescue of Ruth, the boys’ recent sojourn at Red Key, and the wreck of the Mary Jane.
“I used to know the cap’n of that schooner,” he said, “but it’s three years since I saw him last. We don’t see many folks or have many visitors here, except the spongers and now and then the crew of some passing craft. So strangers with news to tell are certainly welcome.”
“Don’t you find it pretty lonely?” inquired Alec.
“Well, there’s always enough to do to keep us busy, and most of us have our families here. Sometimes we take trips over to Key West for supplies, and twice a year the steamer belonging to Uncle Sam’s lighthouse department brings us the regulation stores of oil, coal, etc., that are furnished to all the stations from Maine to Texas. But life here isn’t very——”
“Hello, down there!” called an assistant keeper from the lantern and, running to the foot of the stairs, Chester answered the hail.
“Tell Cap’n Bowling there’s a small craft, probably a sponger, comin’ in from the east’ard. As nigh as I can make out there’s two men on board, waving lanterns. But they don’t seem to have her in hand very well.”
“A sponger from the east’ard,” repeated Bowling, having heard his assistant’s report. “There’s like to have been trouble out there, lad, for the most venturesome sponge-fisher who ever lived wouldn’t be abroad in this blow unless something had gone wrong. Tell Bill to keep his eye on them.”
Chester repeated the instructions, and a grin overspread his face as he heard Bill mutter irritably:
“Keep an eye on ’em! I’d like to know what else he thinks I’d do? Anyone’d have sense enough for that.”
“What’s he saying?” asked Bowling sharply.
“Just talking to himself, I guess,” replied Chester.
“That’s a bad habit Bill has got,” the keeper said, laughing. “He chews over a lot of words that don’t mean anything, though they kind o’ rile a man. Go up and see what’s eating him, sonny.”
Young Brownell obeyed promptly, although he felt quite confident that he would not learn anything more than Bill had already reported.
“There’s trouble o’ some kind out yonder,” the assistant declared and handed Chester a pair of night-glasses. “Thank fortune, we don’t have to sit still and see them poor fellows drift past us while we’re suckin’ our thumbs!”
“Do you think——”
“I’m tryin’ to figger out how we’re going to lend a hand if that there sponger strikes a sunken ledge or a coral reef, as I reckon she will.”
“You couldn’t even stand on the rocks while the sea is running as it is now!” said Chester.
“I ain’t so certain ’bout that, though I’ll admit that a man couldn’t keep his footin’ there and ’tend to much else. ’Sides, the tide’s risin’ now. It’s within an hour o’ high water.”
When Chester descended the stairs in some anxiety and reëntered the keeper’s room, Bowling asked sharply: “What’s Bill doing—besides his duty? Depend on him for that!”
“Trying to decide how we can help those in the sponger, if she strikes a ledge, sir.”
“Oh, so that’s what’s troubling him! Let’s hope his fears won’t be justified! Bill Wayne may be mulish and irritable at times, but whenever any danger or hardship comes up, his heart swells out till it’s too big for his body.”
CHAPTER XIII.
SAVED FROM THE STORM.
In spite of Keeper Bowling’s light words, inwardly he shared his assistant’s anxiety and keen sense of responsibility. His calm, easy manner was assumed chiefly that his other men and his guests might not dread the worst, before the belated sponger had made further progress toward the haven.
However, everyone felt anxious. The men were dividing their watches as usual in order to keep the light in prime order throughout the night. At last word came that the sponger had struck on the nearby shoals. Instantly all was hustle and prompt action in the lighthouse. All but one of the men, followed by Roy Norton and the four scouts, lanterns in hand, hurried down to the scene of the wreck.
“They must have been too close to the light and miscalculated their distance,” said Bowling, throwing a coil of rope over his shoulder. “In the darkness it’s quite possible to do that. Even experienced seamen have made that mistake.
“Men,” he added, a moment later, “I’m going back to the house and rig a block to a bar across the east window of the tower. By overhauling all the spare line in the storeroom, I’ll get enough to make a tackle that will reach from that window well down into the water.”
“Yes, but what then?” Hugh asked breathlessly. “What will that do, sir?”
“With the loose end—well padded so it won’t cut—belayed under the arms, there’ll be a good chance for some one to go out into the surf and carry the line to those poor devils out there. And then I——”
“Oh, Captain!” cried Hugh eagerly. “Let me go! I’m light, I can swim, and I’m not a bit afraid of the rough water. Say, Mr. Bowling, let me go!”
“You, my boy! Not much! You must be crazy!”
The other men protested against Hugh taking such a risk.
“Lad, you don’t know what it would be to swim out there in these rough shoals! It takes a heavier chap than you to do the stunt,” said one man gravely.
“Why, you’d be battered around like a cork by these waves,” said another. “Any moment you might be dashed on a hidden reef and——”
“Oh, I’m sure I could do it!” declared Hugh.
“No, no, lad!” interposed Bowling decidedly. “It’s out of the question, though we all like your courage.”
Without waiting to hear more, he and Bill Wayne ran back to the lighthouse. Hastening to the storeroom and opening its window, they shoved a timber through, pulling it across the aperture. They attached to this a large quantity of rope and a pulley block. Bowling then knotted the rope around Bill’s body, after which Wayne clambered up on the sill. Bowling hauled the line taut as it ran through the block, and, when the assistant swung off, he lowered Bill slowly to the rocks below.
Standing near, Hugh could see Wayne as he went boldly into the surf. The lad’s heart bounded with the thrill of the exploit which he had vainly sought to undertake. Again and again he saw Bill carried off his feet by the force of the waves beating on the line of rocky ledges, bowled over, tossed to and fro; again and again he saw him stagger up, pulled backward and upward by the line fastened to the timber and manipulated by Bowling’s strong arms. And, finally, to his horror, he saw Wayne fall under a big roller, and he waited vainly in breathless suspense for him to rise.
It was then that Hugh acted with impetuous courage. Plunging into the surf before anyone could restrain him, he dived and swam and fought his way to the place where he had seen Bill knocked down. He was just in time to seize the floating line, which had become caught around a submerged point of rock, and yank the other swimmer up until he had regained a foothold. Together they staggered back, Wayne gasping his thanks and praise. He was just about to make another attempt to strike out to the sponger, when he was arrested by a loud outcry.
The other members of the rescuing party had ventured further along the ledge of coral limestone, carrying with them their lanterns and ropes. At their feet the surf broke sullenly, foaming on the rock, making it slippery. It was dangerous work, yet they were filled with the high resolve to aid those unknown, helpless fellow beings in even greater peril out there in the darkness. They shouted, waved lanterns and finally saw a light waved in answer—before it was extinguished by a tremendous wave. While they were waving, three half-drowned spongers were flung, still swimming, into shallow water; and Norton, Chester and two men sprang in and dragged them out on the ledge.
It was the shout that greeted this act of heroism which caused Bill Wayne and Hugh to desist from their brave efforts.
Without loss of time, the unfortunate men were hurriedly carried to the lighthouse, where first-aid measures were immediately applied.
Anxiously the boys watched the efforts of the gruff keeper and his assistants, and eagerly they saw the signs of life returning gradually to the half-drowned spongers. As soon as the men were able to take it, the captain gave each of them a cup of steaming coffee. And by the time this hot stimulant had done its work, they were ready to sit up and recount their adventures.
They had, it seemed, passed one available harbor late that afternoon, believing that they could reach their destination before the storm overtook them. But the wind had caught them, the rudder had snapped off short, and they had drifted upon the shoals in spite of their best efforts to avoid them.
They had watched despairingly the futile efforts of the men who had tried to rescue them, and had finally determined to cast themselves into the sea and trust to their swimming powers and the inrushing waves to carry them within reach of safety.
When the thrilling tale was ended, the boys drew deep sighs, realizing only then that they had quite forgotten to breathe in their intense interest.
CHAPTER XIV.
CAPTAIN BOWLING’S STORY.
“Were you ever shipwrecked, Captain Bowling?” asked Chester, rather abruptly breaking the pause which followed the sponger’s story.
“Bless you, lad, I’ve seen more wrecks than you could count, I might say.”
“Yes, but I mean, were you ever in one? Did you ever have an experience like——”
“Like the one our friends here have just been through?”
Chester nodded. The others, guessing that he was trying to “draw out” the lighthouse-keeper into a recital of bygone adventures, drew closer around the table or sat in attitudes of quiet expectancy. Bill Wayne handed over to the grateful spongers a pouch of tobacco, pipes and matches, then filled his own pipe.
“Fire away, Cap’n,” he said, smiling. “You’re in for a third degree!”
Captain Bowling laughed. Evidently he was by no means averse to telling stories of his earlier life as a sailor.
“I was shipwrecked, years ago, a blamed sight worse than you were to-night,” he said, turning to one of the spongers.
“Yes, sir, twice as bad,” continued the captain. “Say, Lem, quit your snoring!”
“Go on, don’t mind me!” was the reply.
“Well, boys,” the keeper began willingly, “I’ll tell you about one wreck. When I was a young fellow, ’bout twenty, I belonged to an old-fashioned brig, Nancy, commanded by one of the toughest nuts I ever had the luck to know. His name was Lowes, and he was a regular slave-driver,—but a good seaman, though. Give the devil his due, say I! We were fishing and cruising around the Bahamas, under a lively breeze, and one night—I never knew how it happened—we got blown ’way off our course.
“As the night came on, the breeze increased to a reg’lar Atlantic gale,” Bowling continued, puffing at his pipe. “Rain fell in sheets and torrents, the thunder was loud enough to crack your ears, and flashes of lightning nearly gave us all blind-staggers. Sometimes it all was bright as daylight, then dark as a pocket, pitchy dark. Suddenly the lookout gave a yell: ‘Breakers ahead!’
“‘Put the helm a-lee!’ shouted the watch.
“But before the order could be obeyed, we felt a shock that lifted her bow clear out of water, it seemed, and we knew she’d struck a reef. My stars! how the sea did swat poor Nancy, banging her down on those rocks! I tell you, boys, there was a wild scramble for the boats!
“Old Lowes, he was shouting curses and orders, trying to keep up some show of discipline. The for’ard mast fell over the side nearer the reef, just as the bo’s’n and nine other hands got one boat launched.
“I happened to be in it. As soon as we got clear of the rocks we lay on our oars, waiting to pick up any men that jumped overboard. We urged them on, but they were all busy with the last two boats. They got one of them launched, and then they pulled away toward a rock some little distance from us. It was a big rock, kind of flat, but they never reached it.
“We rowed out to that rock and then a loud crash told us the brig had gone to pieces. We heard sounds like thunder, as the timbers and planks were dashed upon the reef,—then a yell, a frantic shout.
“‘By God, we’re going back there, no matter what happens,’ said one of our crowd. ‘We can’t let our mates drown like rats!’
“So we landed most of our load and rowed back, as quickly and carefully as we could. We picked up eight of the crew, the first trip, and Cap’n Lowes and two officers, on the second. It was dangerous work, but twenty of us, in all, were saved, out of twenty-seven souls. When day dawned we saw the sea covered with fragments of the wreck.
“We were about twelve miles from the nearest island; we hadn’t a bite of food, and many of us had very little clothing on.
“We huddled on the rock, and all that day, the next night, and the next day, we waited for some ship to pass by and discover us. None came. The men nearly died from exhaustion, hunger, and thirst; some drank sea water, lost their minds, and threw themselves off the rock; others got unconscious and had to be tied down to the rock, in order not to be washed away by the seas. We tied them with whatever rags of clothing we could use for the purpose.
“Another night went by. In the morning, several of our number were missing, and others lay dead on the rock. Lowes was among the missing; he had gone raving mad. And finally, when we had lost all hope, I sighted a schooner standing directly down for us. Imagine our joy!
“Well, boys, to make a long story short, a boat from the schooner picked us up and we were taken aboard. They gave us water and food, a small portion at a time. They gave us clothes, for most of us hadn’t a stitch on our backs; and they treated us mighty white.
“No one who hasn’t been through such an experience can appreciate how horrible it is,” concluded Bowling. “But you lads have been life-savers to-night, and you must have had enough of adventures and hardships! How about comfortable bunks and a sound sleep?”
As they rolled themselves warmly in blankets a little later and settled down for a good night’s sleep, they appreciated that for the second time that spring they had had the great privilege not only of seeing, but of sharing the heroic work of life-saving crews.
As earnest Boy Scouts, these experiences meant to them a better understanding of the motto, “Be Prepared,” and filled them with a determination to acquire greater skill in all land and water accomplishments.
The next day being calm and sunny, the Arrow was hauled out and made ready to continue the cruise to Key West. Arrived there, Roy Norton bade his younger comrades a warm farewell and left them standing on the foredeck, waving their caps and cheering for him as he departed on his mission.
CHAPTER XV.
INTO THE EVERGLADES.
When Norton returned to Key West, five days later, he found the boys still there, their number increased by a new arrival, who was none other than Mark Anderson, Captain Bowling’s nephew. Mark had “turned up” quite unexpectedly to visit his uncle, having come on a sailing vessel manned by the crew whom his father and the other surfmen of the Red Key Station had rescued from the Mary Jane. As Hugh expressed it, it was “a reunion of old friends,” and everyone had been surprised and glad to meet again.