The Launch Boys' Adventures in Northern Waters by Edward Sylvester Ellis (best fiction novels of all time .txt) 📕

And the water was fifty feet deep, and Mike had never swum a stroke, and there was no one to go to his help.


CHAPTER XXV

WHAT SAVED MIKE

Let us be just to all. I therefore make haste to say that when Kit Woodford thus threw Mike Murphy into the Back River he did not doubt for an instant that he was a swimmer, for whoever heard of a lusty youth seventeen years old who could not take care of himself in water? Of course there are such, but they are so few that they are a negligible number.

Graff Miller was startled when he heard the splash, and turning his head saw the lad disappear, but his belief was the same as his companion's, and turning on more power, he shot beyond sight before the lad could come to the surface.

Now I wish to say further that it is a fact within the knowledge of more than one that a person who did not know how to swim has, upon being precipitated into deep water, struck out like a master of the natatorial art. A father standing on the shore of a lake in northern England saw a boat upset when a hundred yards off and his little boy flung clear of the support. The lad had never even tried to swim, but as he was going down the parent shouted to him:

"If you don't come right to land, I'll whip you within an inch of your life!"

And the little fellow swam to where the frantic parent awaited him.

Moreover, I once witnessed the same strange occurrence. I was not six years old when I was waiting at the side of a deep pond, and watching my brother, four years older, construct a raft, with which he had promised to come over and take me a-sailing. He put a number of boards loosely together, and using a shingle for a paddle, worked out from shore and began making his way toward me, who was in high spirits over the promised treat.

In the very middle of the pond, where the water was fully twenty feet deep, the primitive raft began disintegrating. The boards slipped apart, so that those upon which my brother stood sank under his weight. Had he been older and more sensible, he would have known that this need not mean danger to him, for the smallest board was buoyant enough to hold his head above water, and he could have worked his way to land with such support. But the sight of the structure breaking apart threw him into a panic. He made a frenzied leap as far out as he could, came up instantly, blew the water from his mouth and swam so easily to where I was standing that I never dreamed he was in peril. I should have said that never before had he tried to swim.

The explanation of what seems unaccountable is simple. Now and then it happens that when a sudden demand is made upon a person to save his life by swimming he instinctively does the right thing. He adjusts his body correctly, and uses his legs and arms properly--his action being exactly like those of a bullfrog when he starts on a voyage to the other side of the spring where he makes his home.

This thing does not often occur, but, as I have said, it does now and then. Let me beg you never to make the experiment unless it is forced upon you, for I dread what the result would be.

You have already guessed that this is what took place with Mike Murphy. I cannot think of a more startling awaking than that of a sleeping person who is flung into a deep stream of very cold water. Mike's momentum took him several feet below the surface, but he quickly rose again, shook the water from his eyes, blew it out of his mouth, and then swam straight for land with the skill that you would show in a similar situation. Even in taking the right direction he was providentially guided, for at first the dense fog shut everything from sight, but after a few strokes, he saw the dim outlines of the trees, and never stopped the vigorous swimming until he reached up, grasped an overhanging limb of a near-by tree and felt his feet touch bottom.

And then he was so overcome by what had taken place and it was so beyond his comprehension that he believed it was a miracle. Standing on the bank in his dripping clothing, he was mute for a full minute. Then he sank on his knees and looking reverently upward said:

"I thank Thee, my Heavenly Father, for saving me life when I didn't desarve it. Why Ye took the trouble is beyond me, but I niver can thank Thee enough. I'm going to try me bist to be more desarving of Yer kindness, and now if it's all the same to Yer blissed silf, plaise give me a chance at that spalpeen that treated me as he did."

From down the river came the sound of the _Deerfoot's_ exhaust, growing fainter as the boat sped on its way. The hoarse blast of a steamer's whistle shuddered through the mist, but the lad saw nothing of either craft. It was fog, fog on every hand.

He could not straighten out in his mind all that had taken place. More than one phase of the occurrences was beyond explanation. Overcoming in a degree the awe he felt for what had occurred in his own person, he thought:

"If the Captain and second mate didn't know I couldn't swim, I'd belave it was them that dropped me overboard by way of a joke, as the Barry brithers explained to the Judge was their raison for hanging Black Mike. It was thim spalpeens that wint fur the Captain whin he was journeying through the woods. Begorra! but they are piling up a big debt fur me to pay! But I'll sittle the same wid int'rist at siven thousand per cent.

"Where's Alvin and Chester all this time? Why didn't they git to the _Deerfut_ before me instead of laving it fur them chaps? What does it all maan, anyway?"

One of the singular coincidences of this series of adventures was that the _Deerfoot_ in going down the Back River passed within a few rods of the _Water Witch_ coming up. The noise of the respective engines prevented either party hearing the other, and the fog would have veiled them had the space between been considerably less.

Not knowing that the launch of their enemies had been moored anywhere near, Mike did not look for it. Ignorant also of how far he had been carried while asleep, he could not guess the distance to Beartown landing. It might be half a mile or ten times as much. In truth, the former distance was about right.

The pressing question was as to what he should do. His clothing even to his cap was saturated. The morning was chilly, and he shivered. He must find a place where he could obtain warmth until his garments dried. When that was done he would decide upon the next step to take.

Had he suspected that he was so close to the landing, he would have picked his way thither and then followed the road to the home of Mrs. Friestone. It seemed to him that there must be a good many scattered houses, any one of which would give him welcome. He remembered that a broad highway runs the whole length of big Westport Island. Necessarily this was parallel with the course of Back River. If he therefore turned away from the latter and held a direct course, he must sooner or later reach the road named, where he would be sure soon to receive hospitality.

No doubt you know from experience how hard it is to hold a straight course when going through a wilderness, without landmarks to guide you and ignorant also of the "signs" which are as plain as print to the veteran hunter. The fog inclosed Mike on every hand, but his activity imparted a pleasant warmth to his frame, which otherwise would not have been felt, even though it was summer time.

He zigzagged sometimes to the right and sometimes to the left, but, on the whole, held substantially to the right direction and gradually drew near the dusty avenue which, once reached, would bring the end of his discomforts. Good fortune stayed with him, for when he was beginning to feel somewhat discouraged with his failure to free himself from the dripping woods, he abruptly came upon a clearing, in the midst of which stood a small house, surrounded by a well-tilled garden and several smaller buildings. Chickens were scratching and picking at the earth, and a big dog, fortunately restrained by a chain, scrambled out of his kennel at sight of the stranger and barked and tugged to get at him.

Between him and Mike stretched a clothesline supported at intervals by leaning props, and despite the fact that the humidity in the air must have been close to ninety-nine degrees, a corpulent woman was hanging out clothes. Two or three wooden pins were in her mouth, and every now and then she reached up with one hand and squeezed the little conveniences over the cord which supported the flapping clothes. She wore no bonnet or hat, and the untied shoes evidently were an old pair belonging to her husband.

Hearing the dog bark, she looked around to learn the cause. She saw a freckle-faced youth in the act of doffing his cap and bowing.

"The top of the morning to yer ladyship, and would ye be willing to hang me across yer line till me clothes be dried?"

The woman snatched the pins from between her teeth and stared at him. Her face was broad, homely and good-natured.

"G'way now," she answered; "I don't hang up any clothes till the same is _claan_. It will take a waak's washing to rinder ye fit. If I straddle ye over the line wid yer faat and rid head hanging down and bumping togither, ye'll cut a purty figger a-flapping in the wind."

Mike's laughter rang out. She was Irish like him and his heart warmed to her.

"Begorra! I've met a leddy after me own heart. She's from the 'owld sod' and it's not mesilf that is going to have me own way in gay conversation wid the charming beauty."

True enough, the woman was his match and Mike was glad to learn it.


CHAPTER XXVI

THE GOOD SAMARITANS

She looked sharply at him through her bright blue eyes.

"Are ye saaking to make me belave ye are from Ireland?"

"Sartinly--Mike Murphy, from the town of Tipperary, County of Tipperary, at your sarvice," and he bowed again.

"Arrah, poor Ireland, how many wrongs are heaped upon ye! I was sure from yer accint that ye were a Dutchman or Frinch."

"May I ask yer name, me leddy?"

"Mrs. Maggie McCaffry, and me husband is Tam that is working for Mr. Burns at Beartown."

Mike clasped his hands and with a glowing expression stepped forward.

"I knowed it! I knowed it!" he exclaimed, as if overrunning with joy.

"Knowed phwat?"

"That ye were my mither's fourth cousin that lift Tipperary fur Noo York six years ago, but by some mistake landed in Dublin jail--bad cess to them as made the same mistake!"

"It's bad enough fur ye to be born in the same counthry wid mesilf, but I