CHAPTER XXV. In the Ditch
"Whack her up again, Ensor!" ordered Third Officer Kelso.
The boat's work accomplished, it remained for her to overtake the Golden Vanity, hook on, and be hoisted out—a simple operation, since the speed of the ship with the Lorelei in tow was about three knots, or approximately a walking pace.
The cutter was undermanned, since there had been no necessity to use the oars. The now reliable state of the outboard motor no longer rendered necessary a large crew. There were three hands in her, including Geoff, under the Third Officer.
"Stop!" ordered Kelso.
Geoff switched off the ignition. The boat ranged alongside. The boat-rope was heaved and secured, and the cutter brought under the falls. Deftly the engaging gear of the lower blocks was secured.
Standing with one foot on the bulwarks twenty feet above the waterline, and steadying himself by the mizzen-shrouds, was the Chief Officer, waiting to give the order to the hands to hoist.
"All ready, sir!" sang out Kelso.
"Up with her, lads!" exclaimed the Chief crisply.
The boat rose, swaying with the ship as she hung suspended far below the davit-heads. The hands in her fended off with stretchers—a strenuous task for two men.
"She'll have her gunwale stove in next roll!" thought Kelso, and, quick to act, seized hold of a spare stretcher.
Even as he thrust with all his might the stretcher snapped. Thrown completely off his balance his rubber-shod sea-boots slipping on the wet boards, Peter Kelso crashed heavily against the ship's side. Stunned by the concussion, he could do nothing to save himself, and before anyone could go to his assistance, the boat swung outwards.
The young officer fell between the cutter and the ship's side, striking the water with considerable violence. The next instant he was drifting helplessly past the quarter of the steadily moving ship.
In the circumstances the best thing to be done would be for the boat to be lowered and slipped. Geoff would then restart the motor, the hands in the boat could recover their officer from "the ditch", and the cutter could easily overtake the ship.
And Geoff was virtually now in charge of the boat.
But Geoff did nothing of the kind. Even as the first shout of "Man overboard!" rang out, he took a clean header over the side and struck out strongly in Kelso's direction.
Twenty strokes or so brought him within reach of the insensible man. Turning on his back Geoff caught Kelso under the arms and commenced treading water, confident that soon the pair of them would be picked up.
He looked towards the slowly receding stern of the Golden Vanity. As he did so a huge bent object overhead attracted his attention. It was the towing hawser.
The sight of this warned him of a danger he had hitherto overlooked. Kelso and he were almost if not quite in line with the bow of the Lorelei. Unless he looked pretty sharp both might be overrun by the plunging yacht, and smashed like eggshells under her forefoot.
Realizing the peril Geoff kicked out, swimming on his back and towing the passive Kelso.
Someone on board the Lorelei hurled a line as the pair drifted past. It fell short. Even if Geoff had been able to catch hold it would have been torn from his grasp before he could secure it. Two minutes later the two were bobbing in the wake of the yacht.
The Golden Vanity still held on her course. Hampered as she was by her tow, even had she not been steered by a jury-rudder, she could not do otherwise short of taking in all canvas. That would have required several minutes, and even then she would go on drifting farther and farther away before the wind.
"I ought to have stopped in the boat," thought Geoff. "We would have picked Kelso up before this. I wonder how long they'll be getting to us?"
By now the stern of the Lorelei was about three hundred yards away. Geoff noticed a number of people gathered aft, but he was unaware that they had dropped overboard the only lifebuoy they possessed that had survived the hurricane.
Since the bulwarks and taffrail of the yacht had been swept clear Geoff could see the people aft distinctly. Even as he watched from the crest of a wave he noticed one man detach himself from the rest and run for'ard.
When the swimmer rose to the crest of the next wave something of a very different nature attracted his attention. It was the black triangular dorsal fin of a shark.
For an uncertain interval—to Geoff it seemed minutes—the lad's mind seemed incapable of reasoning. With the level of his eyes only an inch or so above the surface he could only peer dimly at the apparently slow-moving, sinister object, as the shark proceeded to circle around its intended prey.
"Splash, you idiot, splash!"
It seemed as if someone were shouting into his ears. Sheer imagination, for with the exception of the unconscious Kelso, whose head he was more or less mechanically keeping above water, there was no human being within three hundred yards.
The spasm of stark fear passed. Geoff once more realized that he had not only himself to look after, but to do his very utmost to save his senseless shipmate. Hampered as he was it was no easy matter to knock up a splash. It was out of the question to do so with his feet while swimming on his back with Kelso in front of him. Releasing one hand he beat the water with that. The effect was almost ludicrous.
Turning the Third Officer's body until it was about at right angles to his own, Geoff used his legs with good effect, churning up a column of spray. The effort sent his head under. He came up spluttering, yet his grip on his companion did not relax.
The salt water made his eyes smart. He could see nothing except the dazzling glare of sunshine. Closing his eyelids tightly he succeeded in expelling the irritating moisture. Then he looked around.
The shark had ceased moving, and was taking stock of the unusual activity on the part of one of his proposed victims.
"The brute isn't frightened, worse luck!" thought Geoff resentfully. "One good thing, he's no nearer!"
Then, even as he looked, a feather of white foam leapt from the surface of the water within twenty yards of the shark's head. There was a distinct thud, accompanied by the distant sharp crack of a rifle. A tremendous agitation of the water followed. When it subsided, the shark was nowhere to be seen, though an ever-spreading patch of oil and blood showed that the formidable tiger of the deep had received more than he had bargained for.
Between four hundred and five hundred yards away Abraham Y. Sylvester lowered a pair of binoculars and turned to one of his guests who had just ejected a smoking shell from the breech of a Winchester Express rifle.
"Ricochet," he drawled. "Guess the bet's off!"
Sylvester's guest rubbed his chin with his disengaged hand.
"Reckon I drew a bead on that shark's eye at three hundred," he replied. "Mebbe a yard's a darned sight more at sea than it is Arizona way. Riccyshay or nary riccyshay, I guess that shark won't want dinner agen. I'll trouble you for that fifty dollars, Abe! See here; there's the boat!"
It was not until the shout of "Man Overboard!" that Bernard Woodward realized that anything had gone wrong.
Rushing to the side he was just in time to see his chum dive overboard to swim to Kelso's aid.
"Nip in, a couple of you!" shouted the Chief Officer. "Who knows how to work that motor?"
There was sound reason for this question. Although the cutter under oars only might be able to effect the rescue of the two men in the ditch, she would have a long tussle to overtake the Golden Vanity and her tow. In fact, should the wind freshen, the ship would outdistance the boat until sail were substantially reduced, since under a makeshift rudder and hampered by the drag of the Lorelei astern, she could not haul to the wind.