[CHAPTER XV]
PHIL BECOMES “HIGH LINE”
Just as Serge uttered his terrified scream at the sight of what he believed to be the schooner about to run them down, he gave a lurch to one side that sent him clear of Phil and plunged him again beneath the surface. The swimmer seized him by the collar, and at the same moment was struck by something on the opposite side that he instinctively grasped. It was an oar belonging to the boat into which Jalap Coombs had slid as it towed astern of the schooner, and cutting the painter, had come to their rescue. As from his position in rowing he was not able to look ahead, he had not yet seen the lads, when a scream from under his bows warned him that he was upon them. The boat had appeared to Serge so suddenly and unexpectedly that to his bewildered eyes she looked as big as the schooner, and he believed his own fate and Phil’s to be sealed.
It did not take the chilled and dripping lads long to scramble into the boat, for though they were so numbed as to be almost helpless, both they and Jalap Coombs were such experienced boatmen that all three knew exactly what to do. Relieved from the terrible strain under which they had labored, they felt so weak that they would gladly have lain down in the bottom of the boat; but Jalap Coombs said: “No indeed, ye’ll do nothing of the kind. Set on that thwart, each take an oar, and row for all you’re wuth to keep up a cirkerlation and get warm. Ef ye don’t, I’ll have to turn to and give ye both the sound thrashing ye desarve, though I was brung up a Quaker, and are opposed to fighting on gineral principles.”
He spoke so sternly that neither of them dared disobey him, and so they wearily rowed for all they were worth, which was very little indeed just then, until the returning schooner picked them up, and willing hands outstretched over her side drew them once more into safety.
In the meantime the lads, whose friendship had been sundered for a little, only to be welded more firmly than ever by the death struggle they had just shared, had exchanged a few broken but heartfelt sentences as they sat side by side on that weary thwart, and now all was again well with them.
Serge had said, “Oh, Phil! I shall never forgive myself!” And the latter had answered: “You don’t have to, old man. If you will only forgive me, it will be more than enough.” After that the mere touching of their wet shoulders had proved comforting, and given assurance of a friendship that neither of them believed could ever again be broken.
Youth and health can withstand almost anything, and so in the morning, after a night between warm blankets, the lads were as fit as ever for their day’s work. As they started out in their boat in pursuit of seals, they felt none the worse for the experience of the previous evening, which was already become a memory, and one not altogether tinged with sadness. In fact, they were not inclined to regard their adventure half so seriously as did Jalap Coombs. He said:
“Ef it hadn’t er been for me and old Kite Roberson, the Seamew would have lost two of her best hands.”
“We know what would have happened if it had not been for you,” replied Phil, gratefully; “but what had Mr. Robinson to do with it?”