Before Clem could move, he saw Tom, hanging grimly to the gaff, drawn out by the fish’s wide, circling sweep. In a flash, the dogged San Pedro boy had his hold broken, had lost his balance—and was overboard.
“By golly, he’s too cold and stiff to swim!” thought Clem swiftly. He lifted his voice in a ringing shout:
“Ed! Ed! On deck! Man overboard!”
With the words, he caught up the life preserver hanging at the rail and tossed it over the side. Then, his coat off, he leaped after it, in wild fear lest his own driving tyranny had been carried so far that Tom would have no strength left.
In that desperate fear, he came to the surface almost beside the struggling figure of Tom Saunders. A few yards away was floating the round life buoy. Catching Tom by the collar, Clem gained the preserver in a few strokes, and bobbed Tom up inside it.
“Get your arms over the sides—that’s right! Now take a turn of the line about your arms. Good!”
Satisfied that Tom was sure to float, Clem turned on his side and sent a glance around for the Sadie. With a shock, he remembered that her engines were set at half speed.
She was gone in the fog!
Stilling the momentary panic that seized him, Clem lifted his voice in a shout. He knew that Ed Davis would be on deck by this time, but at sight of the swirls of fog, that hid the water ten feet away, his heart sank.
“How you makin’ it, Tom?”