The Three Fates

by F. Marion Crawford

“You will meet us at the house, dear, won’t you?” said Grace to her husband just as George was turning his boat to row back.

“Yes, as soon as I can take her to her moorings,” answered John, who was holding the helm up with one hand and loosening the sheet with the other.

As George rowed towards the land he faced the river and saw what happened. The three ladies were all looking in the opposite direction. The little cutter’s head went round, slowly at first, and then more quickly as the wind filled the sail. At that moment a sharp squall swept over the water. George could see that John was trying to let the sheet go, but the rope was jammed and the sail remained close hauled, as it had been when he made the boat lie to. She had little ballast in her, and the weight of the ladies being out of her, left her far too light. George was not a practical sailor, and he turned pale as he saw the cutter lie over upon her side, though he supposed it might not be as dangerous as it looked. A moment later he stopped rowing. The little vessel had capsized and was floating bottom upwards. John Bond was nowhere to be seen.

“Can your husband swim?” he asked quickly of Grace. She started violently as she saw the look on his face, turned, caught sight of the sail-boat’s keel and then screamed.

“Save him! Save him!” she cried in agony.

“Take the sculls, Mamie!” cried George as he sprang over the side into the river. He had not even thrown off his shoes or his flannel jacket.

George had calculated that he could reach the place where the accident had occurred much sooner by swimming than in the boat, which was long and narrow and needed some time to turn, and which moreover was moving in the opposite direction. He was a first-rate swimmer and diver and trusted to his strength to overcome the disadvantage he was under in being dressed. In a few seconds he had reached the cutter. John Bond was nowhere to be seen. Without hesitation he drew a long breath and dived under the boat. The unfortunate man had become entangled in the ropes and was under the vessel, struggling desperately to free himself. George laid hold of him just as he was making his last convulsive effort. But it was too late. The wet sail and the slack of the sheet had somehow fastened themselves about him. He grasped the arm with which George tried to help him, and his grip was like a steel vice, for John Bond was a very strong man and he was in his death agony. George now struggled for his own life, trying to free himself from the death clasp that held him, making desperate efforts to get his head under the side of the boat in order to breathe the air. But he could not loosen the dead man’s iron hold. The effort to hold his breath could go no further, he opened his mouth, and made as though he were breathing, taking the cool fresh water into his lungs, while still exerting his utmost strength to get free. Then a delicious dreamy sleep seemed to come over him and he lost consciousness.

Mamie Trimm showed admirable self-possession. She brought her mother and Grace ashore in spite of their cries and entreaties, for she knew that they could do nothing, and she herself did not believe at first that anything serious had happened, and told them so as calmly as she could. She knew that George was an admirable swimmer and she had no fear for him, though as she reached the land she saw him dive under the capsized boat. He would reappear in thirty seconds at the most, and would probably bring John Bond up with him. She had great difficulty in making Grace go ashore, however, and without her mother’s assistance she would have found it altogether impossible. The four women stood near together straining their sight, when nothing was to be seen. The struggles of the two men moved the light hull of the cutter during several seconds and then all was quiet.

With parted lips and blanched cheeks Constance Fearing stared at the water, leaning against the tree that was nearest to the edge. Grace would have fallen to the ground if Mrs. Trimm had not held her arms about her. Mamie stood motionless and white, expecting every moment to see George’s dark head rise to the surface, believing that he could not be drowned.

At that moment a third boat, rowed by four strong pairs of arms shot past the wooded point at a tremendous speed, the water flying to right and left of the sharp prow, and churning in the wake, while the hard breathing of the desperate rowers could be heard.