The Ocean Cat's Paw Part 61

There was silence.

"Where's Mr Rodd?"

A moment's pause, and then--

"Mr Rodd! Ahoy!"

"Here, Joe, here!" came in half-suffocated tones.

"Wheer, my lad?" cried the man excitedly.

"Here! Here! Help!"

"But where's yer _here_, lad? I can't see you.--Can any of you? Oh, look alive, some on you! Get hold of the boy anywhere--arms or legs or anything--and hold on like grim death."

There was a sharp rustling of leaves and twigs which pretty well drowned Rodd's answer--

"I'm down here."

"Where's _down here_, my lad? Are you under the boat?"

"No, no. Hanging to a bough, with the water up to my chest, and something's tugging at me to drag me away."

"Oh, a-mussy me!" groaned the sailor. "Why aren't it to-morrow morning and sun up? Can't any of you see him?"

"No, no, no, no!" came back, almost as dismally as groans.

"Well, can't you feel him, then?"

"No."

"I am here, Joe--here!" panted the lad. "Higher up the river than you are. A big branch swept me out of the boat."

"Ah, yes, we went under it," groaned Joe. "Well, lads, he must be the other side of the tree. Here, where's that there boat? Can any of you see it?"

"No; we are all on us in the tree?"

"Well, I don't suppose you are swimming," roared Cross savagely. "Do something, some on you! Thinking of nothing but saving your own blessed lives! Are you going to let the poor lad drown?"

"Here, c.o.xswain, why don't you tell us what to do?" snarled one of the men.

"How can I," yelled Joe, "when I don't know what to do mysen? Oh, don't I wish that I had got the skipper here! I'd let him have it warm!"

"Joe! Joe!" came out of the darkness. "I can't hold on! I can't hold on!"

"Yah, you young idgit!" roared the sailor. "You must!"

"I can't, Joe--I can't!" cried Rodd faintly, and there was a gurgling sputtering sound as if the water had washed over him.

"Oh-h!" groaned Joe. "Don't I tell you you must! Hold on by your arms and legs--your eyelids. Stick your teeth into the branch. We are a-coming, my lad.--Oh my! what a lie!" he muttered. Then aloud, and in a despairing tone, "Can any one of you get up again' the stream to where he is?"

"No!" came in a deep murmur. "If we go down we shall be washed away."

"Same here," groaned Joe. "I'm a-holding on with the water right up to the middle, and just about ready to be washed off. I can't stir. Oh, do one of you try and save the poor dear lad! I wish I was dead, I do!"

"Joe!" came faintly.

"Ay, ay, my lad!"

"Tell Uncle Paul--"

The words ended in a half-suffocated wailing cry, and almost the next moment there was a tremendous splashing of water, and the snapping of a good-sized branch, followed by sounds as of a struggle going on upon the surface of the rushing stream as it lapped and hissed amongst the tangled boughs and twigs.

"Hold hard!" yelled Joe. "Anywhere.--Got him, boys--_urrrrr_!--"

It was as if some savage beast had suddenly seized its prey. Then there was a loud panting and more crackling as of branches giving way, and directly after, in answer to a volley of inquiries, Joe Cross panted out--

"Yes, I've got him, my lads, and he's got his teeth into me; but I don't know how long we can hold on."

"You must hold on, Joe!" shouted a voice.

"Stick to him, messmate! I'm a-trying to get to you."

There was more crackling in the darkness, and a peculiar subdued sound as of men panting after running hard; but it was only the hard breathing of excitement.

"Have you got him still, Joe?" came in gasps.

"Yes, my lad, but he's awful still and I don't know that he aren't drowned.--No, he aren't, for he's got his teeth into my shoulder, and he's gripping hard. But the water keeps washing right up into my ear."

"Hoist him up a little higher," panted the other speaker.

"How can I? I've got my arm round him, but if I stir it means let go.

What are you doing, mate?"

"Trying to get down to you, but as soon as I stir the bough begins to crack."

"Steady, mate, steady! I can't see you, but I can hear, and if you come down on us we are gone. Here, I say, it will be hours before it's morning, won't it?"

There was a groan in reply--a big groan formed by several voices in unison.

"But how long will it be before, the tide goes down and leaves us?"

There was no reply, and a dead silence fell upon the occupants clinging to different portions of the tree, all of whom had managed with the strength and activity of sailors to drag themselves up beyond the reach of the water and at varying distances from where Joe Cross clung with one messmate hanging just above his head.

"Well, look here, messmates," said Joe at last, "it's no use to make the worst on it. I've got the young skipper all right, and he's growing more lively, for he just give a kick. Now who's this 'ere? It's you, Harry Briggs, aren't it?"

"Ay, ay, mate; me and water, for I swallowed a lot before I got out of it."