Bert Wilson, Marathon Winner

by J. W. Duffield

“Righto!” acquiesced Dick, and with a few more remarks along the same line they descended the steep cabin companionway. It was a relief to get out of the dense, clammy fog, and you may be sure the dry, comfortable berths felt very grateful to the tired athletes. In less time than it takes to tell, they had all dropped off into deep slumber.

It seemed but a few moments later when Dick found himself sitting bolt upright in his berth, with a vague but none the less terrifying sensation that something terrible had happened. At first he thought he must have been dreaming, but a moment later shouts and cries on deck dispelled this idea. Dick hastily awakened Bert and Tom and all three bounded up on deck, where they found everything in confusion.

As they emerged from the companionway hatch they saw that the fog still held, thicker, if that were possible, than when they had gone below. The captain was shouting orders from the bridge, and members of the crew were scurrying wildly here and there across the slippery decks.

The ship’s engines had been stopped, as they could tell by the absence of vibration, but it was several minutes before they could get hold of anybody to tell them what was amiss. Finally, however, they managed to stop one of the crew long enough to be told that they had rammed what appeared to be a fishing schooner, and that the latter was sinking fast. Then the sailor hurried off on his interrupted errand, and the three boys dashed forward to the bows, where most of the excitement seemed to be.

As they drew nearer the forward part of the vessel they were able to see grotesque figures, distorted by the fog, hurrying to and fro. Soon, as their eyes became accustomed more and more to the dim light of lanterns, they could make out the outline of the mast and rigging of a sailing vessel close against the side of their own ship.

Up this rigging men were climbing swiftly, and jumping on to the deck of the Northland. Already there was a group of eight strange sailors standing there, with more coming all the time. Even as the boys watched, however, the mast of the sailing vessel gave a great lurch, and a cry went up from everybody watching.

“For the Lord’s sake, hurry!” went up a shout from those on the stricken vessel. “She’s sinking beneath our feet. Jump lively there!”

By the light of the binnacle lamp on the sinking vessel could be seen the sturdy figure of her captain, standing immovable and calm and giving orders as coolly as though he were not in the slightest danger. According to the unwritten law of the sea, a captain may not leave his ship until all his crew are off, and it was plain that this man would be staunch to the end.

It became evident that the doomed vessel was sinking fast, and there were still several men on her deck waiting their turn to climb the rigging to safety. Could they possibly get up before the ship foundered?—that was the question.

The mast sank lower and lower, until the last sailor up had to be grasped by friendly outstretched arms and dragged over the rail. There was now no reason for the captain to stay on deck, and seeing this, he made a dash for the mast. But he was a second too late. The waves for several minutes had been lapping at the decks of the doomed craft, which lay at a sharp angle to the water, and now with a sickening lurch it dived under the waves, taking its devoted captain with it.