Fire Island | Page 2

about his waist and secured it to the belaying-pins close at hand, the mate went on shouting a few words from time to time as he tried to make out their unfortunate companions.
"These storms end suddenly," he shouted. "Don't understand 'em-- electricity or something to do with the volcanoes. Keep a stout heart, sir. If we do have to die, I don't think it will be very bad. Hold tight whatever you do. As aforesaid, `Never say die.'"
Oliver Lane turned his head to him and tried to make out the expression on the face of a man who could speak so coolly about death. But it was too dark, and turning back to the companion who had joined them, he reached his arm farther round the shroud he was clinging to and touched him.
The young man raised his drooping head.
"Where's Drew?" shouted Oliver Lane; but the wind bore away his words, and he yelled out his question again.
"Cabin!" came back in a temporary cessation of the turmoil of roaring wind, hissing spray, and creaking and groaning of the vessel's timbers.
Oliver Lane tried to ask another question, but the wind caught him full in the face with such force that for a few moments he could only gasp and try to recover his breath, while directly after the vessel gave so tremendous a pitch and roll, he was jerked from his footing and hung by his hands with the sensation of having his arms jerked from their sockets.
But the young Englishman had been engaged in similar struggles for hours, and recovering himself he shouted, "Panton?"
"Hullo!"
"Is Drew hurt?"
"Yes. So am I."
"So we are all, Mr Panton," yelled the mate. "If we get through this we shall all be covered with bruises, let alone broken ribs and other bones--Yah!--Hold on."
The advice was not needed, for the two young men with him had suddenly seen something grey loom up in front, and taught by experience that it was a mass of foaming water, they clung for dear life, sheltering themselves as well as they could beneath the bulwark as the wave curled over and thundered along the deck with a hideous crashing din that literally stunned them. When it had passed over Oliver Lane shook his head and tried with his smarting eyes to get rid of the water and make out whether his companions were safe.
To his horror Arthur Panton was hanging from the belaying pin to which he had lashed himself, with his head down and his hands close to his feet, apparently lifeless, while the mate was gone.
It is good medicine for the mind to see others in peril, for it rouses to action the best feelings in our nature and subdues the love of self.
In an instant Oliver had forgotten his own sufferings, and, holding on by one hand, he tried to raise his companion to his old position, but for a few moments in vain. Then the reaction came, and the young man made a brave effort to assist, and soon after he was upright and clinging with his arms over the bulwark, gasping heavily to recover his breath.
Oliver Lane's next movement was to help the mate, whom he could dimly see lying across the deck half buried and wedged in amongst ropes, gratings, and the smashed-up wreck of one of the boats, which had been torn from the davits by the weight of the water.
He had to crawl to him, and then dragged away a great tangle of rope and several pieces of broken woodwork before the mate moved. Then he began to struggle, dragged himself out by the help of Oliver Lane's hands, and crawled back with him to the side, where he crouched down under the bulwark.
"Nice lark this, sir," he groaned.
"Much hurt?" shouted Oliver Lane.
"Tidy," came back. "Don't know yet, sir. Hah! Don't think I could stand much more of it, nor the old Planet, neither."
These words were uttered during a temporary lull. Then the wind came along with a fiercer rush than ever, bearing with it a perfect deluge of spray in great stinging, blinding drops torn from the surface of the waves, and forcing all on board to shelter their faces from its violence.
There was no more possibility of making one another heard for the furious blast. Every nerve and muscle had to be devoted to the task of holding on, and in this way hour after hour of that awful night slowly passed away till one and all of the crew strained their eyes, though vainly, for the coming of the day.
"At last!" shouted the mate.
Oliver Lane looked up in his direction, so thoroughly exhausted and weak that he could not comprehend the meaning of his companion's words. Then by slow degrees he began to realise that the wind was falling fast,