[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

ing lower like the jaw of a ponderous trap. He saw the danger he was
in and started for the land again. That top-hamper with its web of
lines and spars could snare him and carry him to the bottom. Thomas
pushed on as fast as he was able. Harrison was out of sight. Nowhere
was he able to spot a dark head moving in a patch of white. He saw
nothing except the swells as he paddled ahead. All he could do in the
darkness was follow the wind. If it had not changed direction, it would
be going toward the closest land. He swam with the wind at his back,
MOTOO EETEE 47
away from what he reckoned was its source. It was difficult to tell
unless he paused for a moment. He gasped for breath and felt it was
safe to take a rest and look back.
The Dove had rolled onto her beam-ends. All aft of her main chains
was under water, and the larboard bow and bowsprit were washed
over by the largest swells. Her masts were lying in the water with their
yards protruding from the surface at all angles and moving in response
to the currents below. Waves surged around the wreck, swirling into
thick, white foam. He could not see a single man clinging to the
remainder of the barque or struggling in the sea. He was totally alone.
A sudden twinge, a hollowness struck in his chest, and his pulse
drummed in his ears. It was both fear and fatigue. If he saw another
man, even if he was yards away, just discernible in the gloom, he
would rejoice. The waves lifted and dropped him as he searched about.
Should the Dove continue to slip lower, then the only things visible
would be a few stars and the patches of foam on the heaving sea.
There was nothing to do but resume swimming, though at a slower
pace to spare his strength and keep a watch ahead. Perhaps he might
catch sight of the carpenter or another crewman. That would reassure
him and put more spirit in his struggle toward the shore.
He knew that after the Dove had struck, everything had happened
quickly. In a minute or two she had rolled over and settled in the
water, yet it seemed to have taken much longer, that he had been in
the sea for an hour. To him, the whole disaster had been a succession
of drawn-out incidents. He continued at his steady pace and changed
direction when he suspected there were rocks ahead. The wreck was
no longer visible. With the wind as his sole guide, he tried to keep
before it. If it had not veered around to another point, he must reach
the shore soon. If he was heading in some other direction, the cold
water and fatigue could be his end. He could last just so long. He
might die a few yards from the shore.
His worries faded in a moment when he stopped for a rest. Far
ahead there was the muffled sound of the surf. Its rumble permeated
the blackness. Thomas was elated. It assured him he was swimming
48 MOTOO EETEE
toward the nearest shore and was no longer lost in a tossing world of
wind and water. Solid ground, perhaps rock, was halting the ponder-
ous roll of the swells ahead of him. He might no, he would walk on
the earth again. He might find his mates there, waiting for him, to
grasp his hands and help him out of the waves. The rumble of the
breaking waves was there before him and he worked toward it alter-
nately swimming and resting. As the surf increased to a booming, new
energy flowed into Thomas s arms and legs. There was nothing more
he wanted than to feel the hard, unyielding beach under his feet. It
might rage and blow all night, all week, if only he and his mates were
on that shore. Slowly, a band of white became visible each time he
rose on a swell. It extended into the gloom in either direction.
 Huzzah! he managed to croak. The goal was in sight, and his
limbs now moved automatically, seemingly without his will. Ahead,
the swells peaked as they rolled on, tipped forward, and crashed into
a chaos of foam and spray. Certain larger waves slammed down with
a thunderclap and sent white fountains shooting skyward. He stopped
and watched the confused water race toward the shore. No breaks
appeared in the row upon row of waves where he might slip through
to the shore without being injured. They looked too violent. They
could dash a man against the bottom or tumble him over and over
until he drowned. Back to the north was nothing except more waves
coming. No crewman s head bobbed in the swells.
He was alone in a nearly lightless world, and he might become the
sole man to reach the shore. If he became the lone castaway on the
island, only the miscalculation or curiosity of some captain might bring
a ship close enough to see his signal of distress. That might be only
after a stay of years on that speck of land. But first, he must pass
through that booming water that barred him before he could become
a survivor on that shore. He had to enter the breakers soon, for the
longer he delayed, the more chilled and fatigued he became. One by
one the swells rolled on and broke over the backs of those gone before
them. Thomas paddled to keep his head as high as he was able and
MOTOO EETEE 49
watched for any coming swell that was lower than the rest. He hoped
Harrison had already made it through and was somewhere on the
shore and perhaps watching for other survivors. But he could as well
be in that churning water being rolled back and forth. A smaller swell
was approaching.
He struck out swimming at his fastest pace, but he had waited too
long. It passed under him and he sank into the next hollow. A sec-
ond wave did the same, broke beyond him, and spread up the slope [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]