“I’ll make a dam’ good try anyways,” growled the other determinedly. Donald laughed and proceeded to divest himself of his coat, pants and boots. There was a resolute look on his boyish features, but he still laughed as he stripped. “And what th’ devil are you laughing at? And what are you cal’latin’ you’re agoin’ to do?” cried Nickerson, staring at the young man in amazement.
“Me?” McKenzie stopped laughing, stared to leeward, and carefully scanned the sea—the racing, broiling run of it and the violent confusion of water which separated the wreck from the shore. “Why, Juddy, old timer, I’m laughing at the idea of you trying to scramble ashore on two planks. You’d be choked or drove under ere you’d made five fathom off the ship. Remember the West Wind and the Livadia? I’ve had some practice—you haven’t. I’m going to let you tend the line, old timer, and I’ll swim ashore!” He spoke the last sentence without laughing and in a voice that brooked no denial.
Nickerson demurred. “You’ve got a mother and you’re all she’s got——” The other nodded and said in the same grim tone, “If anything should happen, Jud, I rely on you to look after her. Now, get your line coiled and see that there is enough of it and no chafes or broken strands.”
Captain Westhaver broke in, “It’s a kile o’ trawl ground-line, bran’ noo stuff, an’ stout an’ strong. I got three hundred fathom here——” “But, hell!” growled Judson obstinately, “I’m agoin’, Don—not you!” Donald pulled off his boots and tightened the waist-band of his under-drawers. “No, no, Jud!” he said. “What’s the use of you going? It would only be wasted effort. You can’t swim. I can. It’s up to me. You’re needed aboard to rig up that breeches-buoy and get the people off. If I shouldn’t make it, you can try, but not before. Gimme that line!” “Th’ lad’s right,” concurred the steamer captain, and he handed the end of the thin, light, trawl-line to McKenzie, who proceeded to knot it around his shoulders. “Now, Jud,” he said finally. “I’m going to make for the beach yonder, and if I manage it, I’ll carry my line up to the point ahead. When I give a signal, you bend a stout halliard and a block to it and I’ll pull it ashore and rig my end of the gear to one of those trees. You know how the business is worked. Now, Jud, old man, so long! If anything should happen ... look after my mother!” And while Nickerson stood half-dazed with the suddenness of this usurpation of his voluntary forlorn hope, McKenzie was scrambling along to the stern of the pounding steamer. For a full minute he stood amidst the chill sprays awaiting a chance, and his slim body would be outlined against the livid whiteness of the foaming water. Several times when flying water from the waves slashed across the deck, the anxious watchers thought he had gone. They waited with their hearts in their mouths, and Nickerson nervously fingered the line. A smooth after a big sea; a momentary cessation of the tumult; a muffled shout from the slim figure at the rail—then into the back of a racing comber he dived!
Nickerson tending the line felt it weaving through his hands, and he leaned over the broken rail and stared into the spray and rain with chill fear clawing at his heart. He was trembling with anxiety for his friend—the lad he had trained in the ways of the sea and the man he loved as a brother—and he peered into the tumult of surging combers, into which Donald had gone, with nervous concern. Watching the sea and the line slipping through his fingers in spasmodic jerks, he was unaware of two female figures scrambling along the drenched deck behind him. It was Helena and Ruth who, unable to remain lashed up for’ard, had come aft to see if Judson had gone on his desperate mission. Mistaking him for someone else, they cried fearfully, “Has he gone?”
Captain Westhaver heard and answered shortly, “Yes!” And added. “Take care an’ hang on, girls!” Then Judson shouted out, “He’s still going! He’s still going! I believe he’ll make it!”
“Oh!” The two women cried out together at the sound of the voice, and Helena asked quickly, “Who’s that? Is that Juddy?”
“Aye! That’s Cap’en Nickerson at th’ rail,” answered Westhaver.
“Then who’s gone? Who’s out there?” It was Ruth’s question.
“Young Cap’en McKenzie! He’s aswimmin’ in to th’ beach!”