Killykinick by Mary T. Waggaman (ebook reader 8 inch .txt) 📕

doom. George! I believe Last Island is going clean under!"

"Let her go!" came the keeper's bluff response. "Been nothing but a bramble bed these twenty years."

"Bramble bed or not, some fools are camping there," said Blake. "I've seen their dogs on the beach for the last three days; and there was a boat moored to the rocks this morning, and boys scrambling along the shore. The folks that are boxed up in town all winter run wild when they break loose here, and don't care where they go--"

"Hush!" broke in the keeper, suddenly. "Push open the glass there, men, and listen! I think I heard a gun!"

They flung open the window at his word. Borne upon the wild sweep of the wind that rushed in upon them, there came again a sound they all knew,--the signal of distress, the sharp call for help. It was their business to hear and heed.

"A gun sure, and from Last Island!" said the keeper, briefly. "There are fools there, as you say, Blake. Run out the lifeboat, my men! We must get them off. Both boats, for we don't know how many we have to care for."

"Both boats, sir?" hesitated Blake. "We're short-handed to-day, for Ford has a crippled arm that would be no good in this surf."

"I'll take his place," said Father Tom, eagerly. "I've shot the rapids with my Indian guides many a time. I'll take Ford's place."

"Think twice of it, sir," was Blake's warning. "You are risking your life."

"I know," was the brief answer. "That's my business as well as yours, my friends; so I'll take my chance."

"There talks a man!" said the keeper, heartily. "Give him a sou'wester, and let him take his chances, as he asks, in Ford's place."

And, in briefer time than we can picture, the two lifeboats were swung out of their shelter in the very teeth of the driving gale, and manned by their fearless crews, including Father Tom Rayburn, who, muffled in a huge sou'wester, took his place with the rest; and all pushed into the storm.

* * * * *

At Last Island all hope seemed gone.

"One last shot, my boy!" daddy had said, as the gun dropped from his shaking hand. "And no one has heard,--no one could hear in the roar of the storm."

"Oh, they could,--they could!" murmured Freddy. "God could make them hear, daddy,--make them hear and come to help us. And I think He will. I have prayed so hard that we might not be drowned here all alone in the storm. You pray, too, daddy,--oh, please pray!"

"I can not,--I _dare_ not," was the hoarse answer.

"O daddy, yes you can,--you must! The waters are coming on us so fast, daddy,--so fast! Please try to pray with me. Our Lord made the winds and waves go down when He lived here on earth; He walked on the waters and they did not hurt Him. Oh, they are coming higher and higher on us, daddy! What shall we do?"

"Die," was the hoarse, fierce answer; "die here together, my boy,--my little boy! For me it is justice, judgment; but, O my God, why should Thy curse fall on my boy,--my innocent boy?"

"O daddy, no! That isn't the way to pray. You mustn't say 'curse,' daddy. You must say: 'Have mercy, dear Lord; have mercy! Save me and my little boy. Send some one to help us.' Oh, I am trying not to be afraid, but I can't help it, daddy!"

"My boy,--my poor little boy! Climb, Freddy! Try to climb up on the roof--the broken shaft! Leave me here, and try to climb, my boy! You may be safe for a while."

"O daddy, no, I can't climb and leave you," and Freddy clung piteously to his father's breast. "I'd rather die here with you, and God will take us both to heaven together. I haven't been a very good boy, I know; and maybe you haven't either; but if we are sorry He will let us come to Him in heaven--O dad, what is that?" Freddy's low tone changed to one of wild alarm. "What is it now,--what is it now?"

For the dogs, that had been crouching and cowering beside their master, suddenly started up, barking wildly, and dashed out into the rising waters; new sounds blended with the roar of the storm,--shouts, cries, voices.

"Here,--_here_!" daddy feebly essayed to answer. "Call to them, Freddy! It is help. God has heard your prayers. Call--call--call--loud as you can, my boy!"

But there was no need. Rex and Roy had already done the calling, the guiding. On they came, the sturdy rescuers, plunging waist-deep through the waters that were already breaking high on the beach and bramble growth, surging and swelling across the broken wall that had once guarded the Old Light, and lapping the low cabin floor. On the brave life-savers came, while Rex and Roy barked in mad welcome; and Freddy's clear, boyish cry, "Here,--here! Daddy and I are here!" pierced through the darkness and turmoil of the storm. On they came, strong and fearless,--God's angels surely, thought Freddy, though in strange mortal guise. And one, whose muffling sou'wester had been flung loose in his eager haste, led all the rest.

"Here, my men,--here!" he cried, bursting into the ruined hut, where a little figure stood, white-faced, breathless, bewildered with the joy of his answered prayer. "They are here! God have mercy!" broke in reverent awe from his lips. "Freddy, Freddy,--my own little Freddy here!"

"Uncle Tom,--Uncle Tom!" And Freddy sobbed outright as he was clasped in those dear, strong arms, held tight to the loving heart. "How did God tell you where to come for me, dear Uncle Tom?--Daddy, daddy look up,--look up! It's Uncle Tom!"

And what daddy felt as he looked up into that old friend's face, what Uncle Tom felt as he looked down on the "derelict" that had drifted so far from him, no one can say; for there was no time for words or wonderment. Life-savers can not stop to think, much less to talk. Daddy was caught up by two or three big fellows, without any question, while Uncle Tom looked out for Freddy.

It was a fierce struggle, through surging waves and battering wind and beating rain, to the waiting lifeboats; but, held tight in those strong arms, pressed close to the true heart whose every pulse was a prayer, Freddy felt no fear. Even when the stout boat, fighting its way back to the other shore, tossed like a cork in the breakers, when the oar snapped in Blake's hand, when all around was foam and spray, in which earth and heaven seemed lost, Freddy, nestling in Uncle Tom's sou'wester, felt as if its rough, tarry folds were angel wings.

And so safety and shelter were reached at last. Father Tom gave his little drenched, shivering, white-faced boy into Ford's friendly care.

"Put him to bed somewhere, to get dry and warm."

"But daddy,--my own dear, lost daddy?"

"Leave him to me, my boy," said Uncle Tom, softly. "I'll take care of daddy. Leave him to me."

And then Ford, who, somewhere back of Cape Cod, had a small boy of his own, proceeded to do his rough best for the little stranger. Freddy was dried, rubbed, and put into a flannel shirt some ten sizes too big for him, and given something hot and spicy to drink, and finally tumbled into a bunk with coarse but spotless sheets, and very rough but comfortable blankets, where in less than four minutes he was sound asleep, worn out, as even the pluckiest eleven-year-old boy would be, with the strain on his small body and brave young soul.

How long he slept, Freddy did not know; but it was long enough for the wind to lull, the skies to brighten, the black clouds to break and scatter before the golden glory of the summer sun. The wide lookout window had been thrown open, and showed a glorious rainbow spanning the western sky. And there, on a pallet thrown hastily on the floor, lay daddy, very still and pale, with Uncle Tom kneeling beside him, holding his hand. An icy fear now clutched Freddy's heart at the sight. Reckless of the ten-sizes-too-big shirt trailing around him, he was out of his bunk with a jump to his father's side.

"Daddy, daddy!--O Uncle Tom, is daddy dead?"

And daddy's eyes opened at the words,--eyes that were no longer burning, but soft and dim with tears.

"Not dead, little Boy Blue! Daddy is alive again,--alive as he has not been for long, long years.--Tell him all, Tom. I am too weak. Tell him all. He'll be glad to hear it, I know."

But Father Tom only put his arm around the boy and drew him close to his side.

"Why should I?" he said, smiling into the upturned face. "We know quite enough for a little boy; don't we, Freddy,--that, like another wanderer from his Father's house, daddy was dead and is alive again, was lost and is found. And now get into some short clothes, if you can find them, and we'll go over to Killykinick in my little motor boat; for poor Brother Bart is in sad terror about you, I am sure."

Ah, in sad terror, indeed! It was a pale, shaken old man that stood on the beach at Killykinick, looking over the sea, and listening to the Captain, who was striving to find hope where he felt there was none.

"Looks as if the old cabin on Last Island might be holding together still. Dan and Neb are knocking a raft together, and if they can make it float they'll go over there and get the little lad off. And if they don't Padre" (the rough old voice trembled),--"if they don't, wal, you are sky pilot enough to know that the little chap has reached a better shore than this."

"Aye, aye, I know, Jeroboam!" was the hoarse, shaken answer. "God knows what is best for His little lamb. His holy will be done. But, O my laddie, my little laddie, why did I let you go from me into the darkness and storm, my little boy, my little boy?"

"Hooray! Hooray!" Wild shouts broke in upon the broken-hearted prayer, as Jim and Dud and Dan burst round the bend of the rocks. "Brother Bart, Brother Bart! Look what's coming, Brother Bart!"

And, turning his dim eyes where the boys pointed, Brother Bart saw a little motor boat making its swift way over the still swelling waves. On it came, dancing in the sunlight arched by the rainbow, tossing and swaying to the pulse of the sea; and in the stern, enthusiastically waving the little signal flag that Ford had put into his hand to remember the life-savers, sat--

"Laddie!" burst from Brother Bart's lips, and he fell upon his knees in thanksgiving. "O God be praised and blessed for the sight! My laddie,--my own little laddie safe, safe,--my laddie coming back to me again!"


XXIII.--DAN'S MEDAL.


It was the day after the big storm that had made havoc even in the sheltered harbor of Beach Cliff, and so damaged "The Polly" in her safe moorings that six men were busy putting her into shipshape again. And dad's other Polly was in