The realization shocked him. He stopped in his tracks and stared. His heart almost stood still. His last hope was gone. Then wildly he tore up the roadway to the higher level, still hoping that he might find some trace of the people he sought. His hope was vain. No name in any doorway even remotely suggested the name he was looking for, and all whom he questioned gave him the same reply,—they did not know any one of that name.
Almost stunned, Henry turned about and slowly retraced his footsteps. He was hardly conscious of where he was going, but he kept walking, and his footsteps naturally went downhill. Before he realized where he was, Henry found himself on the water-front. A great, wide, cobbled thoroughfare ran along the water’s edge, and here, projecting far out into the bay, stood pier after pier in a magnificent row, all built as a result of the war. But the pulsing life of the war days was gone. Many of the piers seemed empty or deserted. Few vessels lay in the docks. Yet the splendid water-front, once open and unobstructed, was now completely shut in by these hulking structures. To see the water here, one must either go back up the hill, where one could see over the pier-sheds, or else go to the seaward end of a pier. And no matter how keen his disappointment was, Henry did want to see the water-front here. After a little he would go back to Manhattan and try to find some quarters where he could exist until one of his friends returned, or until he could get a job. But before he went back he meant to have a good look at this lower end of the harbor, which he loved so well.
Carefully he made his way along the edge of a pier, outside of the pier-shed. It chanced to be unoccupied. Henry was glad it was so, for there would be no one to disturb him. He could enjoy the scene to his heart’s content. When he reached the outer end of the pier, he set his little suit-case down and gave himself up to full enjoyment of the scene. Not far below him were the buildings at the quarantine station, and a great steamer lay in the Narrows there, evidently detained by the quarantine officials. Here were no hurrying ferry-boats, but directly off the pier on which he stood were anchored a number of ocean-going craft. How huge they seemed. How alluring was the thought of a voyage aboard one of them, even if they were but clumsy freighters. There was nothing clumsy about the little Coast Guard cutter that lay near them, however, and again Henry admired the trim little craft. He saw her small boat returning from land with some passengers aboard, and he wondered at her speed and the way she darted through the waves. He could even see the man on watch, as he paced back and forth across the bridge.
Presently an ocean liner passed down the Narrows, headed for the open sea. How majestically she rode the waves! Her rails were lined with people. Henry wondered where they were going, and when they would be coming back again. He watched the great ship until she began to grow small in the distance. He was lost in thought, his mind with the voyagers on the great vessel. There was not a soul about to disturb his meditations. No one was on the pier, and no ships lay in the docks alongside. How he wished he might take a journey abroad, like the passengers on that great liner, and see distant lands and strange peoples.
Unconsciously Henry had approached the very edge of the pier. He hardly realized that only a foot or two of solid planking lay between him and the heaving waters. His thoughts were entirely centred upon the vanishing steamer. He wanted to watch her until he could see her no longer. Her course turned her slightly toward the shore, behind some pier-sheds and shipping farther down-stream. Henry craned his neck as far as he could, to watch the disappearing vessel. Then he took one step forward, and, as he did so, his toe caught under a spike which was sticking up an inch or so in the flooring of the pier. He lost his balance, and, before he could recover himself, pitched head foremost over the end of the pier. Then, with no one near to aid him, with not a soul to hear his startled cry for help, he sank far down into the cold and heaving waters.
CHAPTER II
A FIGHT FOR LIFE
So confused was Henry that he knew not in which direction to strike out. He could not tell which way was up and which was down. He was afraid to try to swim, lest he drive his body still deeper into the water, or swim against a piling and perhaps knock himself unconscious. Instinctively he had taken a deep breath just as he struck the water. It was fortunate, for he was a long time coming up, and before his natural buoyancy lifted him to the surface, he began to suffer for air. His lungs seemed to be bursting. He felt as though he were suffocating. But just when it seemed as though he could hold his breath no longer, his head shot up above the water.
With a gasp Henry sucked in a lungful of air, and with it he gulped down a mouthful of salt water. He began to cough and as he did so a choppy wave hit him smack in the face and he swallowed more water. Although he was an excellent swimmer, he was really in a bad way. All of his swimming had been done in smooth, fresh water. He was not accustomed to salt water and the roughness that usually accompanies it. With his face drenched with the spray, his eyes stinging with the salt water, and the choppy, uneven waves dashing over him, he knew not how to take care of himself, or hardly in which direction to try to swim.
Indeed, it would have bothered even a more experienced person to know just where to turn. The pier from which Henry had fallen contained not a soul, and no boats lay in the long, flanking docks. It was useless to look for help from that quarter. It was almost as useless to turn toward the ships that lay at anchor some hundreds of yards out in the water. Between them and the shore the tide was sweeping seaward with great power. Even if he could manage to keep afloat, it would be almost useless to swim toward these ships. He could never hope to stem that strong current, and the chance of being seen by any lookout on the ships seemed remote indeed to Henry. As for getting out of the water, there seemed no possible chance of that either. There were no ladders, no ropes, no steps visible anywhere along the piers, by which he could mount upward. Only the rounded pilings that upheld the pier floors offered space to cling to, and these were covered with rough barnacles and coated with slime. Besides, it would do little good to cling to them unless he could first attract the attention of some one.
With all his might Henry shouted, but he got no response. He was fast becoming chilled, for the water was very cold. His strength was ebbing, and the swirling eddies sucked him toward the pier. Once, indeed, he was drawn entirely under the pier, and the choppy water knocked him roughly against the pilings. His head banged hard against a great spile, and for a moment Henry almost lost consciousness. Then he recovered his full senses and set himself to fight for his life. His strength was going fast, and he knew it. Yet he did not allow himself to become panic-stricken. He took a grip on himself, turned away from the pier, and struck out with all his remaining strength. Whatever happened, he would get away from those deadly pilings. The thought of dying under the pier, among those slimy spiles, chilled him worse than did the cold water.