With a single violent wrench Breeze freed himself from the other’s grasp, and just as some of the crew, who had been attracted by the shouts on deck, came up from the cabin, he plunged headlong into the raging waters.
CHAPTER VII.
A STRUGGLE FOR A LIFE.
For half a minute Breeze was lost to the view of those who from the deck of the schooner watched anxiously to see him emerge from his brave plunge. They gave a shout as he reappeared. He had only time to draw in a single breath of air before he was again buried beneath a huge curling wave that, before it broke, towered many feet above his head. His comrades were just about to haul him back by means of the line they were paying out, and the other end of which was knotted about his waist, when his head was once more seen above the surface.
This time they were astonished to note what a distance he had gained, for being many feet under water had not prevented his swimming sturdily towards the object of his efforts. Now how gallantly he dashed forward! with what splendid overhand strokes he took advantage of the few moments of surface-swimming granted him before he was again swallowed up! He had won many a swimming-match in both smooth and storm-tossed waters about Gloucester. He had taken many a header through green walls of inrushing breakers, but never before had he swam as now; never before had he struggled for the prize of a human life.
When for the third time he emerged from the suffocating waters, he saw the yellow-clad form, to gain which he had fought so bravely, within a few feet of him. With one more desperate effort, for the line about his waist was now dragging him back almost irresistibly, he reached it, and grasped the stern becket of the overturned dory.
Out-stretched upon its flat bottom, with both arms and legs twined about the life-line,[[E]] lay the senseless form of a young man, apparently but little older than the brave swimmer who now tried to rouse him. It was impossible to do so, and Breeze feared that he was dead. Without casting loose the line from about his body, he gathered a bight in it, and made this fast to the becket of the dory. Then he waved his hand as a signal to those on board the schooner to pull in.
The strain upon the light line was terrible, and in any other hands but those of expert fishermen it would have parted a dozen times before its precious burden was drawn as close as was safe under the stern of the schooner. Then a second line was thrown to Breeze, who, nearly exhausted as he was, still found strength to secure it about the body of the senseless lad beside him. He could not, however, undo the clutch of the rigid fingers from the life-line, and for a moment began to despair, even within reach of rescue, of saving him for whom he had risked so much. But help was at hand, and it came as he least expected it.
From the schooner’s deck old Mateo had watched the brave struggles of his boy, as he called him, in an agony of apprehension. Now, with senses quickened by affection, he was the first to comprehend the difficulty. Just as Breeze was about to relax his efforts, feeling that he could do no more, the old cook’s heavy jack-knife, with the end of a fishing-line attached to the ring in its horn handle, came flying across the dory, and dropped into the water beyond it.
Breeze secured it, opened it, and with a last effort cut both ends of the dory’s life-line, as well as the becket to which he had fastened himself. Then the knife dropped from his nerveless fingers, and, as the dory drifted away, two senseless figures were drawn through the wild waters to the plunging schooner. With a final effort for their destruction, a huge billow hurled itself bodily upon them, and the lines had to be slackened for a few moments, or they would have parted. The limp forms were buried deep beneath the green waters; but again they were drawn to the surface, and this time they came within reach of the eagerly out-stretched arms waiting to grasp them.
The unknown lad was carried into the cabin; while Breeze, claimed by Mateo, was tenderly taken into the forecastle. There, while two men stripped and rubbed him, the old cook heated blankets, and prepared hot stimulants, wailing as he bustled about, “Oh, Breeza! ma boy, ma boy! You no-a die; you must leeve!”