“Uncle Tom,—Uncle Tom!” And Freddy sobbed outright as he was clasped in those dear, strong arms, held tight to the loving heart. “How did God tell you where to come for me, dear Uncle Tom?—Daddy, daddy look up,—look up! It’s Uncle Tom!”
And what daddy felt as he looked up into that old friend’s face, what Uncle Tom felt as he looked down on the “derelict” that had drifted so far from him, no one can say; for there was no time for words or wonderment. Life-savers can not stop to think, much less to talk. Daddy was caught up by two or three big fellows, without any question, while Uncle Tom looked out for Freddy.
It was a fierce struggle, through surging waves and battering wind and beating rain, to the waiting lifeboats; but, held tight in those strong arms, pressed close to the true heart whose every pulse was a prayer, Freddy felt no fear. Even when the stout boat, fighting its way back to the other shore, tossed like a cork in the breakers, when the oar snapped in Blake’s hand, when all around was foam and spray, in which earth and heaven seemed lost, Freddy, nestling in Uncle Tom’s sou’wester, felt as if its rough, tarry folds were angel wings.
And so safety and shelter were reached at last. Father Tom gave his little drenched, shivering, white-faced boy into Ford’s friendly care.
“Put him to bed somewhere, to get dry and warm.”
“But daddy,—my own dear, lost daddy?”
“Leave him to me, my boy,” said Uncle Tom, softly. “I’ll take care of daddy. Leave him to me.”
And then Ford, who, somewhere back of Cape Cod, had a small boy of his own, proceeded to do his rough best for the little stranger. Freddy was dried, rubbed, and put into a flannel shirt some ten sizes too big for him, and given something hot and spicy to drink, and finally tumbled into a bunk with coarse but spotless sheets, and very rough but comfortable blankets, where in less than four minutes he was sound asleep, worn out, as even the pluckiest eleven-year-old boy would be, with the strain on his small body and brave young soul.
How long he slept, Freddy did not know; but it was long enough for the wind to lull, the skies to brighten, the black clouds to break and scatter before the golden glory of the summer sun. The wide lookout window had been thrown open, and showed a glorious rainbow spanning the western sky. And there, on a pallet thrown hastily on the floor, lay daddy, very still and pale, with Uncle Tom kneeling beside him, holding his hand. An icy fear now clutched Freddy’s heart at the sight. Reckless of the ten-sizes-too-big shirt trailing around him, he was out of his bunk with a jump to his father’s side.
“Daddy, daddy!—O Uncle Tom, is daddy dead?”