"Now, bear a hand there, you, Jean!" I pulled open the gate of the
rail, and ran out the landing stage, on which the flat-bottomed skiff
sat. With an oar I pushed it across at right angles as nearly as
possible when she cleared. "Quick! Get in, both of you," I called. I
was holding the inboard end of the plank under a wedged oar shaft,
thrust below the sill of the forward cabin door. They scrambled out
and in, Jean grasping the bight of the painter that I handed him, and
passing it over the rail.
"Now, look out," I called, and dropped the landing stage to meet the
swell of the next wave. They slid, tilted, righted, rose high--and
held. The next moment I sprang, fell into the sea, was caught by the
collar as my hand grasped the cockpit coaming, and so I slid in,
somehow, over the end deck, and caught the end of the painter from
John's hand and cast her free.
The drift carried us off at once, and the next wave almost hid the
hull of the Belle Helène. I knew at once we were powerless, and that
our one hope lay in drifting ashore. There is no worse sea boat than a
low, flat ducking boat, decked though she be, and of good coaming, for
she butts into and does not rise to a sea. But now, I thanked my star,
one thing only was in our favor. We rolled like a log, already half
full of water, but we floated, because in each end of our skiff was a
big empty tin air tank, put there in spite of the laughing protest of
the builder, who said no room was left for decoys under the decks.
Just now, those tin cans were worth more than many duck decoys.
"Keep down!" I ordered. "And hold on!" The boys obeyed me. I could
see their gaze bent on me, as the source of their hope, their
reliance. Jimmy was now free from the first violence of the
seasickness, but I saw Jean's hand on his arm.
"Gee!" I heard the latter mutter as the first sea crossed under us.
"Dat was a peach." I took heart myself, for we lived that one through.
"Bail!" I ordered, and they took their cups to it, while I did all I
could with the long punt paddle to make some sort of course. Now and
then the blazing trail of the Belle Helène's search-light swung
across as we rolled, to leave us, the next instant, in blackness. As
the seas permitted, we could see her, riding and rocking, sometimes,
alight from stern to stern and making a gallant fight for her life, as
were we all.
So long as the rollers came in oily and black, we did well, but where
the top of one broke under us, we sank deep into the white foam that
had no carrying power, and our cockpit filled so that we all sat in
water. Only the tanks held us, log-like, and we bailed and paddled:
and after they saw we did not sink, my hardy bullies, perhaps in the
ignorance of youth and boy's confidence that a boy and water are
friends, began to shout aloud. We wallowed on.