Jim Spurling, Fisherman Part 49

Their strength doubled by the realization that life hung on their efforts, the boys swayed at the line until at last they grasped the end of the hawser. To it was attached another smaller rope for pulling in a boatswain's chair.

Working rapidly, they made the hawser fast round an upright boulder. The lightning flashes were now less frequent, but lanterns on the s.h.i.+p and ash.o.r.e enabled each group to note the other's progress. At last the slender cableway was rigged. Jim swung a lantern. Another lantern on the yacht answered.

"The smaller line, boys! Pull in! Careful!"

As the boys hauled, a figure dangled away from the vessel's side.

Sh.o.r.eward it swayed, now high above the wave-troughs, now dipping through a lofty crest. It dragged safely over the inside ledge, while the boys held their breaths; and presently they were unlas.h.i.+ng a man from the boatswain's chair.

"Yes," he said in response to Jim's question, "she's the steam-yacht _Barona_. Belongs to Churchill Sadler of New York. One of his millionaire friends chartered her for a short trip to the Maine coast.

Fifteen men aboard. I'm the mate. Came ash.o.r.e first to see if this rig would work all right."

The chair was already half-way back to the vessel.

"They'll send Mr. Whittington next," continued the mate.

Percy started with surprise.

"What's that? Whittington?"

"Yes. John P., the millionaire! He's the man who hired the yacht."

"He's my father!" gasped Percy.

The mate gave an exclamation of astonishment.

"Lucky we got this chair to working or soon you wouldn't have had any father!"

The swinging seat had now reached the yacht. Two men lashed into it a stout, squarely built figure. The lantern signaled that all was ready and the sh.o.r.eward journey began. Percy was shaking so violently that he could hardly pull. The mate rea.s.sured him.

"Don't be frightened, young fellow! We'll land him all right!"

He added his strength to that of the others, and John P. Whittington came in faster. He reached the ledge, only twenty-five feet from sh.o.r.e.

Then came disaster!

Something gave way on the yacht, and the hawser suddenly slackened, letting the boatswain's chair drag on the ledge. The end of a swinging rope caught in a crack. The millionaire stopped short!

"Harder!" shouted the mate, setting the example.

The boys surged on the rope, but to no avail; they could not budge the chair. Percy stood motionless with horror.

Up curled a huge wave, high over the struggling figure. A thundering deluge hid him from view. It looked bad for John P. Whittington. Two or three seas more and it would matter little to him whether he was pulled in or not.

Guttering and rumbling, the water flowed back. Down over the ledges after it leaped a slim, wiry figure. It was Percy Whittington!

He had thrown off his oil-clothes to give his limbs greater freedom. His head was bare and his light hair stood straight up from his forehead.

Grasping the hawser, he plunged into the sea and dragged himself toward the rock to which his father was fastened.

The group on the point stood silent, watching him struggle yard by yard through the black water until he gained the ridge. On it lay the figure in the boatswain's chair, struggling feebly. Percy planted his feet on the slippery rock. But before he could reach his father another liquid avalanche buried them both.

It seemed to the anxious watchers as if it would never run back. When it did, the older man sagged from the chair, motionless; the lad still clung to the hawser. The future of the house of Whittington hung trembling in the balance.

The mate gave a groan.

"He can't do it!"

At that very instant Percy roused to activity. Even before the ledge was entirely clear he was leaning over his father, knife in hand. It was useless to attempt to extricate the rope-end from the crack in which it was caught; the only thing to do was to cut it. Percy stooped quickly.

Already the next sea was curling over his head. He made a savage a.s.sault upon the rope.

Slas.h.!.+ Slas.h.!.+ Twice his arm rose and fell. The billow was breaking down over him when he leaped erect and flung up his hand.

"Pull!" yelled Jim.

Just as the flood boiled over the ledge the chair and its senseless burden jerked away. Percy grasped the las.h.i.+ngs and was towed along behind his father. Dread overcame him as he felt the limpness of the older man's body.

Through the eddying tide ... up over the slippery rocks ... and presently Jim and the mate were unfastening the bonds that held the insensible millionaire in the boatswain's chair. They carried him up near the beacon and laid him down on Percy's oil-clothes.

"He's breathing!" said the mate. "He'll come round all right. You'll know what to do for him. I'll go back and help get the other men off.

Their lives mean just as much to their people as his does to you."

Working with Budge and Throppy, he took in the slack of the hawser, and soon the chair was dancing back to the yacht. Meanwhile Jim and Percy were working over Mr. Whittington, and before long he recovered his senses. With a groan he half raised himself.

"Where am I?"

"You're all right, Dad!"

"Percy!"

Both father and son showed a depth of feeling Jim would hardly have credited them with possessing.

"You don't need me here any longer," he said. "I'll go down and help pull the others ash.o.r.e. Throw these oil-clothes of mine over your father, Percy, and make him comfortable, and as soon as the rest are safe we'll carry him to camp."

"What's that?" growled the millionaire. "Carry me? I guess you don't know the Whittingtons, young man!"

His jaw set and he rose somewhat unsteadily to his feet.

"Come on, Percy! Where's that camp?"

Walking slowly, the father leaning on his son's shoulder, the two disappeared in the darkness. Jim watched them for a few seconds, then started down over the ledges. The last half-hour had raised his estimation of the Whittington stock considerably above par.

Then for a time, engrossed in life-saving, he forgot everything else. At last all the men were landed safely. It was none too soon, for the yacht was now almost down on her side; and it was plain she would pound to pieces before very long.

Rescuers and rescued sought the cabin, where a good fire and hot coffee awaited them. Whittington, senior, clad in dry clothing, lay in Percy's bunk. Filippo was bustling to and fro to supply the wants of his numerous guests. His eyes fell upon a dark-haired, olive-skinned young man in the rear of the s.h.i.+pwrecked group, and the cup he was carrying clattered on the floor.

"Frank!" he cried. "_Fratello mio!_"

The brothers flung themselves into each other's arms. The Whittington family was not the only happy one in Camp Spurling that night.