The Adventures of Don Lavington Part 57

"Ah, you will be soon. It's the clothes, my lad. Now look here, Mas'

Don. You take my advice. Never you try a long swim again like this with your clothes on. They makes a wonderful deal of difference."

"Jem," said Don, interrupting him.

"Ay, ay, my lad."

"Are the boats very far away?"

"Well, a tidy bit; say half-mile."

"Then swim ash.o.r.e and leave me; save yourself."

"Oh, that's it, is it?"

"And tell my mother--"

"Now, look here," cried Jem. "I should look well going and telling your mother as I left you in the lurch; and my Sally would spit at me, and serve me right. No, Mas' Don, I've tried it easy with you, and I've tried it hard; and now I says this: if you've made up your mind to go down, why, let's shake hands, and go down together, like mates."

"No, no; you must swim ash.o.r.e."

"Without you?"

"Jem, I can do no more."

"If I leaves you, Mas' Don--Ahoy! Boat!--boat!"

Jem meant that for a st.u.r.dy hail; but it was half choked, for just at that moment Don made a desperate effort to turn and swim, lost his remaining nerve, and began to beat the water like a dog.

"Mas' Don, Mas' Don, one more try, dear lad, one more try!" cried Jem, pa.s.sionately; but the appeal was vain. He, with all his st.u.r.dy manhood, strength hardened by his life of moving heavy weights, was beaten in the almost herculean task, and he knew at heart that Don had struggled bravely to the very last, before he had given in.

But even then Don responded to Jem's appeal, and ceased paddling, to make three or four steady strokes.

"That's it! Brave heart! Well done, Mas' Don. We shall manage it yet.

A long, steady stroke--that's it. Don't give up. You can do it; and when you're tired, I'll help you. Well done--well done. Hah!"

Jem uttered a hoa.r.s.e cry, and then his voice rose in a wild appeal for help, not for self, but for his brave young companion.

"Boat! Boat!" he cried, as he heard Don, deaf to his entreaties, begin the wild paddling action again; and he pa.s.sed his arm beneath his neck, to try and support him.

But there was no reply to his wild hail. The boats were out of hearing, and the next minute the strangling water was bubbling about his lips, choking him as he breathed it in; and with the name of his wife on his lips, poor Jem caught Don in a firm grip with one hand, as he struck wildly out with the other.

Four or five steady strokes, and then his arm seemed to lose its power, and his strokes were feeble.

"Mas' Don," he groaned; "I did try hard; but it's all over. I'm dead beat, too."

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

FRIENDLY ATTENTIONS.

A peculiar pale light played and flashed from the surface of the black water which was being churned up by the desperate struggles of the drowning pair. It was as if myriads of tiny stars started into being where all was dark before, and went hurrying here and there, some to the surface, others deep down into the transparent purity of the sea.

A minute before Jem Wimble had kept command of himself, and swam as a carefully tutored man keeps himself afloat; that minute pa.s.sed, all teaching was forgotten in a weak, frantic struggle with the strangling water which closed over their heads.

A few moments, during which the phosph.o.r.escent tiny creatures played here and there, and then once more the two helpless and nearly exhausted fugitives were beating the surface, which flashed and sent forth lambent rays of light.

But it was not there alone that the phosph.o.r.escence of the sea was visible.

About a hundred yards away there was what seemed to be a double line of pale gold liquid fire changing into bluish green, and between the lines of light something whose blackness was greater than the darkness of the sea or night. There was a dull low splas.h.i.+ng, and at every splash the liquid fire seemed to fly.

The double line of fire lengthened and sparkled, till it was as so much greenish golden foam reaching more and more toward where the drowning pair were struggling.

Then came a low, growling, grinding sound, as if the long lines of light were made by the beating fins of the dark object, which was some habitant of the deep roused from slumbers by the light of the golden foam formed by those who drowned.

And it rushed on and on to seize its prey, invisible before, but now plainly seen by the struggles and the resulting phosph.o.r.escent light.

Long, low, and with its head raised high out of the water, horrent, grotesque and strange, the great sea monster glided along over the smooth sea. Full five-and-twenty fins aside made the water flash as it came on, and there was, as it were, a thin new-moon-like curve of light at its breast, while from its tail the sparkling phosph.o.r.escence spread widely as it was left behind.

The low grumbling sound came again, but it was not heard by those drowning, nor was the light seen as it glided on nearer and nearer, till it reached the spot.

One dart from the long raised neck, one snap of the fierce jaws--another dart and another snap, and the sea monster had its prey, and glided rapidly on, probably in search of more in its nightly hunt.

Nothing of the kind! The long creature endued with life darted on, but the long neck and horned head were not darted down, but guided past those who where drowning. Everything was stiff and rigid but the playing fins. But there was another dull, low grunt, the fins seemed to cease by magic; and, instead of being snapped up by the monster's mouth, the two sufferers were drawn in over its side.

Then the water flashed golden again, the monster made a curve and rushed through the water, and sped away for miles till, in obedience to another grunting sound, it turned and dashed straight for a sandy beach, resolving itself into a long New Zealand war canoe, into which Don and Jem had been drawn, to lie half insensible till the beach was neared when Jem slowly and wonderingly sat up.

"Where's Mas' Don?" he said in a sharp ill-used tone.

"Here he is," said a gruff voice, and Jem looked wonderingly in a savage's indistinctly seen face, and then down in the bottom of the long canoe, into which they had been dragged.

"Mas' Don--don't say you're drowned, Mas' Don," he said pitifully, with a Somersets.h.i.+re man's bold attempt at the making of an Irish bull.

"My pakeha! My pakeha!" said a deep voice; and Jem became aware of the fact that the big chief he had so often seen on board the s.h.i.+p, and who had come to them with the present of fruit when they were guarding the boat, was kneeling down and gently rubbing Don.

"Is he dead?" said Jem in a whisper.

"No, not this time," said the gruff voice out of the darkness. "Pretty nigh touch, though, for both of you. Why didn't you hail sooner?"

"Hail sooner?" said Jem.

"Yes. We came in the canoe to fetch you, but you didn't hail, and it was too dark to see."

"We couldn't hail," said Jem, sulkily. "It would have brought the boats down upon us."

"Ah, so it would," said the owner of the gruff voice. "There's three boats out after you."

"And shall you give us up?"