“It’s a head!” cried Bab, with blanched cheeks.
“And Perk’s head, too!” gasped Eugene. “I would know that long black hair of his anywhere.”
Fortunately, Walter was not in the least excited or dismayed; if he had been, Perk might have drifted on down the stream, and sunk for good before any effort was made to assist him. While the others stood with their necks outstretched, their mouths wide open, and their eyes almost starting from their sockets, staring hard at the object in the water, and wondering if it was really a human head, or only a piece of driftwood, Walter had hurriedly divested himself of both his coats, kicked off his boots, and taken a header from the log. The object was still bobbing about in the waves, and floating slowly down the stream, and a few swift strokes brought Walter close up to it. It was Perk’s head, sure enough. The brave young fellow was struggling feebly, but with a very poor prospect of extricating himself from his dangerous situation, for the blow that Pierre dealt him had taken away all his strength, and his heavy clothing, which hung upon him like so many pounds of iron, weighed him down in the water until nothing but the top of his head could be seen above the surface.
Walter was quick in his movements, knowing that there was not an instant to be lost, but cautious also. Having learned by experience that it is a dangerous piece of business to trust one’s self within reach of a drowning person, he swam up behind his friend, and, watching his opportunity, seized him by the back of the neck, lifted his head above the water, and held him off at arm’s length. Perk kicked and thrashed about wonderfully, beating the water into foam, making blind clutches at the empty air, and trying hard to turn about, so that he could take hold of Walter; but the latter held his arm as stiff as an iron bar, and having secured a firm hold of Perk’s long hair, he compelled the latter to keep his back toward him, and held him in that position while he carried him toward the shore.
In the mean time the old Frenchman and his son were not idle. Taking advantage of the confusion that prevailed among the Club, they filled away for the shore, took down the sail, dragged the boat around the obstruction, launched it again on the other side, and resumed their voyage toward the Gulf—Pierre expressing great astonishment at the whole transaction, and swearing lustily at the delay that had been occasioned, and at the wind which continued to increase in fury as night came on; Coulte wondering at the recklessness Perk had displayed in attacking them single-handed, and feeling his head, which still ached from the effects of the strong pulls the boy had given at his hair; and Chase, encouraging himself one moment with the hope of a speedy rescue, and the next holding his breath in dismay, when he thought of the dangers yet to be encountered.
Poor Chase was in a miserable condition. His hands and feet were still bound, his clothes were dripping with water that was almost cold enough to freeze, and he was exposed to the full force of the wind, every gust of which seemed to cut him to the bone. But, after all, he did not mind this so much as he did the voyage into the Gulf, which, unless something happened to prevent it, would be commenced in less than ten minutes. Suppose the boat should go down, what chance had he for his life? He tried to induce his captors to release him, assuring them that there was no possible chance for him to escape now that they were so far from the shore; but not only did they refuse to grant his request, but they would not even permit him to see what was going on around him. As soon as the pirogue was once more fairly under way, Coulte forced him to lie down on the bottom of the boat, and threw a blanket over his head. This, in some measure, protected him from the wind and the spray, but he would much rather have been exposed to the full fury of the gale, if he had only been allowed the free use of his eyes. To be blindfolded, so that he could not see when danger approached, was positive torture to him.
The journey to the island was by this time fairly begun, and it continued four long hours. The wind blew even harder on the Gulf than Chase had imagined, the waves rolled higher, and the voyage was quite as perilous as he had expected it would be. Nothing but the greatest skill and the most watchful care on Pierre’s part, kept the pirogue right-side up. He had his hands full in minding the helm, and Coulte had as much as he could do to bail out the water as fast as it came in. It began to gain at last, and Chase was glad of it, for it was the means of securing his release.
“Whew! I don’t can shtand dis no longer,” panted the old Frenchman, after he had used his bucket until every bone in his old body ached with fatigue. “Meester Shase must help, or we goes to ze bottom.”
“Untie him then,” growled his son. “I guess there’s no danger now that he will jump overboard and swim ashore.”
The pirogue was rolling and pitching in the most alarming manner, and Coulte, not having his sea-legs on, found it a matter of some difficulty to work his way back to the stern where Chase was lying. During the time that he was employed in freeing the prisoner’s hands and feet, short as it was, the water gained rapidly; and when Chase sprang up and seized the bucket, it was almost knee deep in the bottom of the pirogue.