How quickly the lights and noises aboard the Old Province became indistinct! It was startling. The boat rose and sank, driven further and further onward. All was darkness, except the lanterns and the pale light from overhead that revealed each anxious face and the glitter of the wave-crests. The few women crouched together. Gerald pressed close to Philip’s side, but now uttered no word. They had begun the lonely and dangerous pull to Knoxport Cove, the nearest harbor. The strong arms of those who rowed conquered half mile after half mile. It was impossible to see two yards around them. Once they thought that a tug was passing somewhere beyond. That was something to be feared as well as hoped for. Under Eversham’s rallying they cheered again and again. Two of the men fired their pistols. They heard nothing more, however, and the rowers settled down again to their battle. All had gone well enough, so far. If they could but know whether the other boats from the abandoned ship were making as safe a progress as theirs! At length, too, there came over the surge the chime of a bell, faint at first, but gradually more distinct, “One—two—one—two—one—two—one—two;” a strange, lonely rhythm, but unmistakable.
“I take it that’s the buoy on Leunggren’s Rock!” exclaimed Mr. Eversham. “Our course is all right.”
Every one drew an easier breath. Gerald was resting his head on Philip’s shoulder, listening in almost perfect silence to whatever Philip, from time to time, said softly to keep him tranquil and even to make him think lightly of the perils of their situation. The boy sat up now and hearkened. “Yes, it’s a bell, Philip; it’s a bell! I hear it,” he presently said. “It sounds like the church-bell at Ossokosee, don’t it?” he added wearily—“just before Mr. Sprowers stops ringing it. I wonder how they will land us when we get to that place we’re trying for.”
But, as he spoke, a shriek, a dreadful shriek, broke from the lips of a woman opposite. She had carried a baby in her arms tightly wrapped in a shawl. Standing upright, she struggled frantically with those nearest her, who held her back from leaping over the gunwale. In changing her position she had lost her balance and stumbled, and the child had fallen from her very arms into the sea!
“Sit down, I say! Sit down for your lives!” cried Eversham. “The boat will be swamped!” The packages of plate in the middle were shifting perilously, falling against each other. Too late! Lurching violently on the very crest of the roller, the boat toppled, plunged, and then cast out its load—men, women, boys, oars, all—pell-mell together.
For two or three seconds—the kind that seem an eternity—Philip Touchtone, thrown sidelong, struggled in the sea, conscious of but two things. He gripped the gunwale with one hand, half his body submerged. The other was upstretched, and with the palm and each finger pressing with the strength of iron levers, as it seemed, it held back Gerald Saxton from falling out, over his shoulders. Gerald had been hurled against the gunwale, not over it. Philip pushed upward and hung on. The boat righted itself. Lightened of its load, the succeeding wave lifted it like a withered leaf. It swirled it, eddying onward into the fog, out of the reach of those other strugglers in the black water, in a twinkling. All this took place in less time than it takes to tell it.
“Philip! Philip!” came Gerald’s faint cry.
“Hold on!—hold on!” Touchtone gasped. He pulled himself a few inches higher. With a desperate effort he dragged his legs over and rolled down into the boat, dashing what little breath was left in Gerald’s body out of it, as the terrified boy, who had in falling clutched a thwart, raised his dripping and bruised head. Touchtone struck out his arm and caught hold of Gerald’s shoulder.
They were drenched to the skin by the water shipped; but so quickly had the dreadful calamity happened that not a fourth part of what might have invaded the boat was swashing about in it. They drew themselves upward. The knowledge of their deliverance became more distinct. But they were—alone! They glanced fearfully around. The pallid, feeble light from overhead told them it again. Alone! The cries of those struggling with the sea, with exhaustion and death, pursued them. Eversham’s voice—they heard it. But the despairing sounds came from a distance, rods out of their reach, in the fog. The sea was running like a mill-race. Not an oar lay in the boat. The distance widened with each wave. To give help was impossible. Presently the cries ceased. All was still except the lapping of the water within the boat and without.
O, mysterious choice of heaven! Out of all the rest, they two, only, were there alive! Hand grasped hand feebly.