As the little schooner sped gallantly forward, all on board had busied themselves watching a heavily laden tramp steamer making seaward. She had loaded with lumber at a private dock, her bow shoreward, and a puffing little tug had just finished heading her out into the bay. The Three Sisters was well to starboard, but, the steamer being just under way, Captain Joe, it could be seen, would pass close astern.
At the moment when the swell from the steamer’s screw first struck the Three Sisters and the lumber tramp’s rusty red sides rose almost above the swiftly scudding schooner, a little leg o’ mutton rigged boat shot across the big boat’s stern. The fragile craft had been concealed from Captain Joe by the hull of the steamer. Who ever was in the approaching boat was apparently unaware of the impending collision, as the occupant was out of sight behind the sail.
Captain Joe, astern at the helm, could escape the little boat only by falling further off the wind and that meant a collision with the steamer stern or its low-hanging starboard boat. With a shout of warning, he took one quick glance at Mrs. Balfour and hesitated. The moment was long enough to bring about the threatened collision.
Mrs. Balfour screamed and caught Captain Joe’s arm. Bob, still astride the bowsprit, threw his legs backward onto the deck, and, grasping a stay, lunged downward in an effort to fend off the little boat. But, as he did so, a full swell from the now rapidly churning screw of the steamer caught the schooner and lifted it on a foamy crest. Checked in its course, the heavy schooner hung for a moment, its sails flattening, and then, almost jibing, pounded downward into the eddying swirl and smashed the slender mast of the cockle shell crossing its bowsprit.
There was another piercing scream from Mrs. Balfour, and Captain Joe threw the schooner into the wind. Its sails flapping, he sprang forward to the wreckage. Quickly as he did so, Bob beat him, and as the bronzed seaman saw the boy throw himself overboard, he caught up a line and ran out on the bowsprit. A moment later, the captain of the Three Sisters was in the bob stays with firm grips on the unconscious sailor of the wrecked boat and the white-faced Bob.
In truth, Bob’s physical ailment had been largely caused by his overindulgence in indoor aquatics. He had twice been a candidate for a place in the Y. M. C. A. polo team, and he had plunged into the foam of Pensacola Bay with no more fear than if he were starting on a game in the tank.
He had not stopped to consider the handicap of a full suit of clothes, minus his coat which he had laid aside because of the summery sun, and it was too late to do so after he sprang overboard.
He had caught only a glimpse of a boy, had seen him pitch forward as the little boat sank and he knew that help was needed. Bob came to the surface—blowing water as if in a forty-yard dash—his hat well adrift and his shoes already like lead, but with the unconscious form of their victim in his arms.
Captain Joe threw true, and [Bob had enough strength to free one arm and grasp the line]. Mrs. Balfour screamed again, but the experienced seaman reassured her with a smile. Then the agitated woman even helped pull the limp form of the rescued boy into the schooner. Thereupon, although Bob was able to clamber aboard, almost unassisted, she became hysterical. Bob, a little weak in his legs and arms, applied himself to her pacification, and in a short time, they were both able to give attention to the boy on the deck.
“All right,” exclaimed Captain Joe, “breathin’ reg’lar. Got de boom on ’is ’ead. Ain’t no drown.”