Part 47 (2/2)

It all happened in a flash, but at the instant that he was struck, Colin, still in his oilskins and sea-boots, dived into the water.

Fortunately, he cleared the vortex. In a few seconds Roote came up, and Colin grabbed him by the hair. The statistician was insensible, which made matters easier for the boy. But the oilskins and sea-boots were an impossible load, and it was only by great exertion that he managed at last to get them off and still keep Roote afloat. Soon after this relief, too, the statistician showed signs of life, and after successfully fending off a struggle, Colin succeeded in getting the injured man to rest his weight on him in the least tiring manner.

”I don't swim much,” said the net expert. ”How about you? How long can you keep afloat?”

”Long enough twice over for them to find us,” said Colin cheerfully.

”I'm a regular fish in the water.”

But the boy soon found out that it was a far different thing swimming under normal conditions and really having to battle for his life in a fair seaway. Roote, too, soon relapsed once more into unconsciousness, and the boy had to support his weight. He was a swimmer, a champion swimmer, and it was rather a shock to him to find how difficult it was even to keep afloat. He realized how valueless a casual knowledge of swimming would be for use in the open sea.

He had not been more than half an hour in the water when his strength began to fail. He swam around expecting to find some piece of wreckage which would aid him, but not a thing could he see. His arms grew heavy and his feet hung down as though leaded weights were fastened to them.

Black spots began to dance before his eyes, and Roote's weight became a torture. But he still hung on and kept afloat.

An hour pa.s.sed of buffeting with the sea, and the boy began to grow light-headed. He had swallowed quite a little salt water, and presently he began singing, although he had a feeling as though a double self told him not to sing. A choking took his throat and startled him into full consciousness. He had nearly been down that time! But the training of years stood him in good stead now that he needed it, and he still swam on.

Then he began to dream. Once or twice he came to himself and smiled sadly to think that this was the end of all his hopes in the Bureau of Fisheries, but this consciousness did not last for more than a minute before he fell dreaming again, still, however, swimming heavily and keeping afloat. And it seemed to him that the last and the most real of his dreams was that a boat came by. But this, he thought, must be drowning and it was not hard to drown, to dream of being rescued and to go down, down, down, to the cold, strange tideless depths of sea from which no one ever comes up alive. Still, there was the boat in his dream, but it had come too late, and it seemed to Colin, that with his last effort he pushed Roote toward the outstretched arms of the men in the boat, waved a feeble farewell and sank. The water gurgled in his ears, there was a horrible strangulation, he tried to cry out, his lungs filled with water, and he knew no more.

Hours pa.s.sed. Then, with a sense of suddenly arriving from a far-off place, Colin opened his eyes. He was in the cabin of a s.h.i.+p, and despite his exhaustion, he tried to rouse himself at the sound of voices. Roote, and another man, the captain of the bark, were standing beside his bunk.

”He's a plucky youngster, as well as a great swimmer,” he heard the captain say. ”Who is he?”

And Colin heard the other reply, with a note of pride in his voice:

”That's Colin Dare. He's one of our men. We think a lot of him in the Bureau of Fisheries!”

And the boy, wanly, but happily smiling, fell into a deep but healthy sleep.

THE END

<script>