The Iron Boys on the Ore Boats Part 17

The ship was not very far away. It was the blanket of fog that had smothered the sound of the whistle and made it seem many miles off to port of him.

Rush raised his voice and shouted. His voice, of course, carried for a very short distance, for the same reason that had made the ship's whistle sound a long way off. Again and again did he shout, but not a response did he get, save the long wail of the siren. Not a light was to be seen anywhere, nor were there any signs of the other men who had been in the life-boat with him at the time it was lifted from the water and turned bottom side up.

A great feeling of lonesomeness came over the Iron Boy when he realized that he was far out in the lake alone. He, of course, did not know how far they were from sh.o.r.e, but he believed it to be at least twenty miles.

He reasoned that his ship would not sail away without him unless the captain were reasonably certain that Steve had been drowned. The lad decided to swim in the direction from which the whistle sound had come.

He had taken but a few strokes when he became entangled in a ma.s.s of wreckage. At first he thought he was going to drown before he could extricate himself, then he discovered that he could not if he tried.

Ill.u.s.tration: Steve Clung to the Door.

Pieces of floating wood were all about him, some of them the lad recognized as part of a deck house. He fastened to a door that had been split in half, probably by the explosion, and stretching out full length upon it, lay still to rest. He was reasonably safe now, though, of course, unless he were rescued very soon he would become chilled and slip off into the sea.

The wind began to stir up out of the southwest a little. Steve took courage from this.

"It will blow me toward the ship," he exclaimed. "That is, if the ship is where I think it is."

He began paddling with might and main, steering with his feet as well as he could, shifting his weight this side and that from time to time as a swell threatened to upset him.

The siren blew several long blasts.

"That's queer," muttered Steve. "She seems to be getting farther and farther away from me all the time."

The reason for this was that Rush was getting farther and farther away from the ship. He was propelling himself along in the wrong direction.

As the fog began to race on ahead of him he took a look over the waters that now showed white ridges as far as the eye could penetrate. Not a light could he see, save one bright light dead ahead of him. The light winked, went out, then suddenly appeared after a few seconds interval.

"There's the ship!" he cried. "But, oh, how far off it seems to be."

What Steve could not understand, was that he did not see more than one light. Both masthead lights, at least, should have shown. He decided that the side light, the red and the green, were too low down for him to catch a glance at over the tops of the rising waves.

"I'll swim for it anyway," he decided, settling to his work with all the strength that was in him. It would be useless to waste breath in calling, because those on the ship could not hear him at that great distance.

Suddenly the wind abated, the fog rolled back over the lake, again enveloping the swimmer in a dense black mantle. The sea was still running with him, however, and would continue to do so for some time to come, thus helping him along.

After a couple hours of paddling and drifting, during which Rush made considerable headway, the lad realized that he was getting tired.

Further than this he was cold and chilled. The chills extended from his head to his feet.

"This won't do," Steve cried, confusedly. "If I get much colder I shall fall off my ship and drown."

He began paddling with renewed vigor, but, work as he would he seemed unable to throw off the chill. He realized, too, that his body was getting numb. The Iron Boy fought desperately, but the more he fought the more drowsy did he become. His efforts grew less and less and his progress slower.

Steve wrapped both arms about the door and with cheek pressed close to it, resigned himself to what he thought would be a few minutes' rest.

His heavy eyelids closed slowly; his breathing grew regular, but faint and his legs stretched out full length, being in the water up to his knees.

Steve had given way to the languor that was creeping over him. He was adrift and alone far out on the treacherous water of the great lake.

CHAPTER X

TOSSED UP BY THE WAVES

THE light that Steve Rush had seen, the winking, twinkling light came from the lighthouse on North Point. The North Point light was a revolving affair, which accounted for its vanishing and then reappearing at stated intervals.

A few hours pa.s.sed, though they were as seconds to the unconscious boy on the slender raft. At last he began to feel a glow spreading over his benumbed body. He moved a little, took a long breath then settled back into his former stupor. But the warmth continued to spread. Steve felt a sense of being on fire. After a while he realized that the support under him was no longer moving, though he could hear the roar of the waves in his ears. He found himself dimly wondering why they did not break over him and drench him and chill him to the marrow.

Steve tried to raise one hand to his head, but the hand was pinioned so that he could not move it. His curiosity was becoming aroused. Rush opened his eyes. Before him and above him was a rocky, precipitous coast. Then in a rush of understanding he realized that he was lying on the rocky sh.o.r.e of the lake coast. Both hands were still under the door, which accounted for his inability to raise one of them a few minutes since.

The sun was beating down hotly, warming the Iron Boy's blood, sending it more rapidly through his veins.

With a cry of thankfulness Steve Rush got unsteadily to his feet. He was so stiff that he could hardly stand, though the numbness of a few hours since was fast pa.s.sing away.

"I have been carried to the sh.o.r.e and I'm saved!" he shouted. "This is the most wonderful thing that ever has happened to me. But I wonder where I am."

It was early in the morning, that was certain. He judged the hour must be about seven o'clock. His watch had stopped at midnight. Turning quickly the lad glanced out over the green waters of the lake that sparkled in the morning sunlight, a gentle ripple ruffling the surface.

Here and there a huge ore carrier was observed, working its way up or down the lake. Far in the offing thin ribbons of gray smoke told where other vessels were steaming along.

"I wonder if any of those ships is the 'Wanderer'?" mused the Iron Boy.

"And I wonder something else, too--I wonder whether I am going to get any breakfast or not. It is useless for me to try to signal a ship in here. They probably would not come in even if they saw me, as I imagine this is shoal water all around here. There must be some one living about here somewhere. I'll start on a little exploring tour for breakfast."

Steve turned away and began climbing up the rocks. This being his first pa.s.sage over the lakes, he was not at all familiar with the coast and consequently had no idea where he was.

In the meantime the ship had sailed away. The "Wanderer" had lain to until the first gray dawn of the morning. A few of the men had been saved, including two of the sailors in the boat Steve had set out in.

All the others in that craft had been lost, as were the greater part of the crew of the lost steamer. The men rescued from the life-boat were of the opinion that Steve Rush had gone down with the others.

Bob Jarvis said not a word. His face was pale and drawn. He went about his duties methodically, speaking to no one, but listening to every word that was said about the tragedy.

After cutting wide circles for a full two hours the "Wanderer" was put about on her interrupted course.

"South south-west one half," announced the skipper in a low tone.

The words meant to all who heard them, that he had abandoned the search--that the missing men had been given up for lost. Their names would be added to the list of fifty thousand souls who have lost their lives on the Great Lakes during the last fifty years.

Captain Simms' face was grave. He had taken a great liking to Steve Rush. He had lost, as he thought, three men, the first loss of life on a ship commanded by him since he had been in the service of the company as a sailing master.

"Mr. Major, you will report the accident and the loss of the men as soon as we reach the St. Clair River," he said.

"Aye, aye, sir."

Captain Simms left the pilot-house, from which point of vantage he had been sweeping the waters of the lake with his gla.s.ses, and went down to his own cabin to turn in for a few hours' sleep.

In the meantime the object of the thoughts of nearly every man on board, Steve Rush, was climbing to the top of the rocks that lined the coast.

Reaching there he sought the highest point attainable and looked about him.

"I am on an island!" he exclaimed. "From the looks of things I am the only person here. Well, this _is_ cheerful, but it is much better than being out yonder," he added with a gesture toward the rippling waters of Lake Huron.