"All right, if you'll give us a lead," replied one of the others.
"Very well—here goes!" returned Frank. And without more ado he grasped the rope, planted his feet firmly against the vessel's side, and began to ascend. It was evidently not the easiest thing in the world to do, but his pluck, determination, and muscle conquered; and presently, somewhat out of breath, he sat upon the bulwark, and, waving his cap to the boys below, gasped out:
"Come along, boys! It's as easy as winking."
Not to be outdone, several others made the attempt and succeeded also. Then came Bert's turn. Although so many had got up all right, he somehow felt a little nervous, and made one or two false starts, climbing up a little way and then dropping back again. This caused those who were waiting to become impatient, and while Bert was about making another start, one of them who stood behind him gave him a sharp push, saying:
"Hurry up there, slow coach."
As it happened, Bert was just at that moment changing his grip upon the rope, and balancing himself upon the extreme edge of the stringer, which formed the edge of the wharf. The ill-timed push caught him unawares. He threw out his arms to steady himself, and the rope slipped altogether from his grasp. The next instant, with a cry of fear that was taken up by the boys standing helplessly about, he fell over into the dark, swirling water, between the vessel's side and the wharf.
Down, down, down he went, while the water roared in his ears with the thunders of Niagara, and filled his mouth with its sickening brine, as instinctively he opened it to cry for help. He could not swim a stroke, but he had a good idea of what the motions were, and so now, in a desperate effort to save his life, he struck out vigorously with his hands. It must have helped him, too; for out of the darkness into which he had been plunged at first, he emerged into a lighter place, where, through the green water, he could see his hands looking very white, as they moved before his face.
But this did not bring him to the surface; so he tried another plan. Doubling his sturdy legs beneath him, he shot them out as he had seen other boys do when "treading water." A thrill of joy inspired him as the effort succeeded, and, his head rising above the surface, he got one good breath before sinking again. But the pitiless water engulfed him once more, and, though he struggled hard, he seemed unable to keep himself from sinking deeper still. Then the desire to struggle began to leave him. Life seemed no longer a thing to be fiercely striven for. A strange peace stole over his mind, and was followed by a still stranger thing; for while he floated there, an unresisting prey to the deep, it appeared as though all the events of his past life were crowding before him like some wonderful panorama. From right to left they followed one another in orderly procession, each as clear and distinct as a painted picture, and he was watching them with absorbed, painless interest, when something dark came across his vision; he felt himself grasped firmly and drawn swiftly through the water, and the next thing he knew, he was in the light and air again, and was being handed up to the top of the wharf by men who passed him carefully from one to the other. In the very nick of time rescue had come, and Bert was brought back to life.
Now, who was his rescuer, and what took place while Bert was struggling for his life in the cold, dark water? The instant he disappeared the boys shouted and shrieked in such a way as to bring the whole crew of the Santa Maria to the bulwarks, over which they eagerly peered, not understanding what was the matter. Frank, who was in a frenzy of anxiety and alarm, tried hard to explain to them; but his efforts were unavailing until the reappearance of Bert's head made the matter plain at once, and then he thought they would, of course, spring to the rescue. But they did not. They looked at one another, and jabbered something unintelligible, but not one of them moved, though Frank seized the liveliest of them by the arm, and, pointing to the place where Bert vanished, again indicated, by unmistakable gestures, what he wanted him to do. The man simply shook his head and moved away. He either could not swim, or did not think it worth while to risk his precious life in trying to rescue one of the foreign urchins that had been bothering the Santa Maria of late. Had Bert's life depended upon these men, it might have been given up at once.
But there was other help at hand. John Connors, the good-natured Irish storekeeper, by whose sufferance the boys were permitted to make a playground of the wharf, had heard their frantic cries, although he was away up in one of the highest flats of the farthest store. Without stopping to see what could be the matter, Connors leaped down the long flights of stairs at a reckless rate, and ran toward the shrieking boys.