Part 17 (1/2)

The s.h.i.+p 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 s.h.i.+p'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 s.h.i.+p 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 s.h.i.+p,” he exclaimed. ”That is, if the s.h.i.+p is where I think it is.”

He began paddling with might and main, steering with his feet as well as he could, s.h.i.+fting 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 s.h.i.+p. 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 s.h.i.+p!” 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 s.h.i.+p 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 s.h.i.+p 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