Bert Wilson, Marathon Winner

by J. W. Duffield

But wait!—what was that black object that caught his eye as he rose to the crest of a wave? Was it only imagination? a shape born of his desperate desire? No, there it was again. It was real.

Swimming with renewed energy he steered straight for the floating object, but paused again as a new fear gripped his heart. What if it were the fin of a shark! If that was what it was, then he was just hurrying to meet a terrible death. He would rather drown than suffer such a death as that. A few moments he hesitated, but the thought that sharks were not so numerous in the Atlantic as in the Pacific reassured him, and he said aloud, “Well, it is a last chance, and I’ll take it.”

Resolutely, now, he swam on, until as he rose to the crest of a large wave, he found himself near enough to observe that what he had feared at a distance was a shark’s fin was a floating cask. He instantly recognized it as one which had been rolled near to the rail of the Northland for the fellows to sit on. He must have touched it as he went overboard and it had fallen with him.

With a cry of joy he reached it, and, after a failure or two, succeeded in grasping it firmly. Now he had a much better view of the ocean. Again he cast his eager eyes across that great waste of water—and his heart nearly stopped beating. At no great distance and bearing directly toward him was a large steamer flying the French colors. Would she see him or would she pass him by? He scarcely dared hope he would be seen, he was such a speck on that boundless ocean. He could only wait with heart aching with suspense.

Nearer and still nearer came the great ship, until, after what seemed an age of waiting, she was within hailing distance. Eagerly he scanned her for sight of any living being, but he could see no one moving on her decks.

Stripping the jacket of his pajamas from his shoulders he waved it desperately, and shouted with all his strength. Ah, she is passing, she does not see him! But just as all hope seemed lost, he saw hurrying figures on board, and a ringing voice came over the water. “Have courage, we will come to you.”

A great revulsion of feeling passed over him and never afterward could he remember just what happened after that voice reached him, except that he clung, dazed and almost fainting, to the cask for what seemed hours, and then—nothingness!

When he again opened his eyes, he was lying at length on the deck of the strange steamer, and kind faces were bending over him.

His story was soon told and he was overjoyed to learn that the steamer was fitted with wireless apparatus and that a message would be sent as soon as possible to the Northland. Almost before he was missed, the news of his safety would reach them. With thankful heart and in ineffable content he lay, finding it hard to assure himself that death had passed him by, and life, sweeter than ever before, stretched before him.

On board the Northland the breakfast hour had come, and all took their places at the table with unusual alacrity, as they were to report the success or failure of their effort to control dreams by their will-power. Soon all were assembled but Drake.