Jim Spurling, Fisherman Part 48

"Aren't you other fellows going to eat anything?" he inquired, with mock concern. "I don't see any more than enough for myself on that platter.

Don't be so narrow about the food, Filippo!"

The Italian pointed to a pan rounded up with uncooked t.i.tbits.

"Plenty more!"

"Good!" said Percy. "I was afraid somebody else might have to go hungry."

All devoted themselves to the contents of their plates. They kept Filippo busy frying until their appet.i.tes were satisfied.

Supper was over at last, and the dishes washed and put away. Outside, the storm raged worse than ever. Stevens sat down to his instrument, repaired after its damage by Brittler, and put the receivers over his ears.

"Come on, Throppy!" exhorted Lane. "Don't go calling to-night! Get out of the ether and give some other wireless sharps a look-in! Pull off that harness and take down your violin. Let's make an evening of it! We sha'n't have many more."

Stevens lifted his hands to remove the headpiece. Suddenly a change came over his face and his arms dropped slowly. He gave his mates a warning look. There fell a silence in the cabin. Anxiously the others watched the operator's tense features. Minutes pa.s.sed.

On a sudden he sprang up and tore off the receivers.

"There's a steamer in trouble outside. Name sounded like _Barona_. Her engine's disabled and she's drifting. Can't be very far off!"

The boys felt sober.

"It's a hard night for a craft without steerage-way," said Jim. "What's that? Thunder?"

A long, low rumble made itself heard above the storm. It came again, and yet again. The gloom was lighted for a second by a sudden blaze.

"What's that!" exclaimed Jim once more.

Between the thunder-peals his ears had caught a single whip-like crack.

A stunning crash followed a lurid glare, lighting up sky and sea. Again came the sharp detonation, but little louder than a fire-cracker. This time all heard it.

"A signal-gun!"

Lane's voice was full of excitement. He sprang to the door and the others followed. The gale was blowing squarely against the end of the cabin. So great was its force that Roger had all he could do to push the door open. Presently the five stood outside, exposed to the full fury of the blast. For a few seconds all was black.

"Look! A rocket!"

Up from the pitchy sea southwest of Brimstone shot a line of fire, curving into an arc and bursting aloft in a shower of many-colored b.a.l.l.s. At its base were dimly visible two slender masts and a white hull. Almost instantly they vanished; but the boys had seen enough.

"A steam-yacht!" cried Jim. "Not more than a half-mile off Brimstone and drifting straight on the ledges. Looks as if she was a goner!"

"Can't we help her somehow?" asked Percy.

"I'm afraid not. We couldn't drive the sloop against this gale and sea; besides, those rollers would swamp a life-boat. All we can do is to get out on the point and try to save anybody who comes ash.o.r.e. Put on your oil-clothes, fellows! Light both the lanterns, Percy! Budge, you and Throppy each take one of those spare coils of rope! I'll carry another and the Coston lights. Now I can see why Uncle Tom always insisted on having a couple of 'em in the cabin. Filippo, you'd better stay here, keep up a good fire, and make plenty of coffee. There goes another rocket! The gun, too! I don't blame 'em. Men couldn't be in a worse fix!"

Leaning sidewise against the gale, the little lantern-guided procession trudged along the sea-wall and stumblingly ascended the slippery path to the beacon on Brimstone. Sheltering the oil-soaked kindlings with his body, Jim scratched a match; and in a twinkling long tongues of smoky flame were streaming wildly to leeward.

"Ah! They see us!"

Three rockets in quick succession rose from the yacht, now barely a quarter-mile away. The thunder and lightning were almost continuous.

Every flash told that the imperiled craft was steadily drifting nearer the dangerous promontory.

"She'll strike the Grumblers!" muttered Jim. "And that means she's done for! If only she was a thousand feet farther east she'd float by into the cove. Hard luck!"

The Grumblers were a collection of jagged rocks, exposed at low tide.

Under the incessant flashes their black heads appeared and disappeared in a welter of frothy white. It was an ominous spectacle for the men on the yacht.

Taking one of the Coston lights, Jim clambered down on the ledges. Soon the warning red glare of the torch, held high above his head, was illumining the rocks and breakers. He held the light aloft until it went out, then rejoined the others.

"They're getting a boat over!" cried Stevens.

Half a dozen men, working with frantic haste, were swinging a tender out to leeward.

"No use!" said Jim, despondently. "She won't live a minute in this sea."

Ten seconds confirmed his prediction. The yacht rolled. As the boat struck the water a giant sea filled her. Then came darkness. The next flash showed the boat drifting bottom up beside the larger craft.

Another tender was launched; it survived one sea, but the next overturned it. Still a third boat met with the same fate.

Every surge was heaving the yacht nearer the breakers with dismaying speed. A group of figures gathered amids.h.i.+ps. Silently, with pale faces, the boys watched the progress of the doomed craft. She was going to her death. How could any of those on board escape?

Jim threw off his despondency.

"Now, fellows," he cried, "the minute she strikes she'll begin to pound to pieces! Their only chance'll be to run a line ash.o.r.e. We must get out as far as we can to catch it."

Every billow buried the base of the point in snowy foam and sent the spray flying far up its rugged front. Using the utmost caution, the boys descended to the limit of safety. At the next flash they peered eagerly seaward.

The yacht was almost on the Grumblers! Up she heaved on a high surge, dropped. They caught their breaths. No! Not that time. She rose again.

Down ... down ...

Suddenly she stopped. A grinding crash reached their ears.

"She's struck!" screamed Lane.

A blaze of sheet lightning showed her, careened landward, lying broadside toward them about one hundred feet distant. It was the beginning of the end. Jim, clinging to a boulder far out on the streaming ledges, now showered with spray, now buried waist-deep, was watching every movement of the crew.

"They've made a line fast round the foremast!" he shouted back. "They're going to send its end ash.o.r.e on a barrel! Watch out!"

Presently the tossing cask was visible, drifting rapidly landward. For the first twenty-five yards its progress was unhindered; then a half-tide ledge barred its way. It hung on this in the trough of a sea; but the next billow swept it over. Before long it was b.u.mping on the rocks almost within Jim's reach.

Watching his chance, he lunged forward and caught it. A cras.h.i.+ng surge flung him down heavily and rolled him over and over; but he stuck stoutly to his prize. When the water ran back he came crawling up on his hands and knees, sliding the cask before him.

"Can't stand!" he explained, briefly. "Ankle hurt! Now muckle onto this line, everybody, and haul in! They've got a hawser bent on the other end."

A glance toward the yacht told that he was right. It also told that the peril of her human freight was greater than ever. Each sea, raising her slightly, dropped her back with her decks at a sharper angle toward the land. The grinding of the rocks through her steel side could be distinctly heard.

"All together! In she comes! Now ... heave! Now ... heave! Now ...

_heave!_"