CHAPTER IV: MAN OVERBOARD!Simultaneously with the shivering shock of the impact with the iceberg, Billy Raynor felt himself lose his balance.He grasped frantically at the air as he fell backward. But the next moment, too alarmed to cry out, he was himself tumbling through space. Then came the sharp shock and the icy sensation of his immersion as he struck the water.He came to the surface, his lungs full of brine and his ears roaring as if an express train had been rushing past them. He gasped for breath and spat the salt water out. Far above him he saw for a flash the black, high hull of theCambodian. He saw her lights. For a brief instant he could hear shouts.And then the ship had passed by. An instant later she had vanished from the castaway lad’s sight.“Help!â€� yelled Raynor, finding his voice at last. He sent the cry echoing and volleying across the dark water again and again. But there was no response.A chill of deadly fear, not altogether born of the icy water, struck in at his heart. He was alone on the Atlantic. Nothing but his own efforts would keep him above the water very long. And weighted as he was by his water-soaked clothes, he felt his strength ebbing every moment.“Great heavens,â€� he moaned to himself, “is this to be the end? Am I doomed to end my life here in the ocean with nobody to know of my fate?â€�He cast his eyes upward. Then he almost gave a shout of relief. Towering above him was a mighty white wall.It was the iceberg to which he owed his predicament.It has been said that drowning men will clutch at straws. This may, or may not, be true, but certain it is that to Billy Raynor, almost exhausted by his long fight in the chilly water, the iceberg appeared a haven of refuge. Like most of such huge ice structures it was very irregular in shape.Near him was a spot at which a narrow shelf stretched out close to the water’s edge. Raynor struck out for it and drew himself upon the ledge of ice. Then, for a time, he lay there supine, too weak to even move.He was fearfully cold. His teeth chattered and he felt as if his flesh must be blue. But at least he had saved his life for the time being. He knew that ten minutes more in the water would have finished him. Raynor sat up and took stock of the situation.He was afloat on an iceberg, a precarious enough situation surely. His momentary feeling of exultation at having found a safe refuge began to fade. He felt a wave of fear pass over him. He shouted with all his might, cupping his hands and casting his voice in the direction he thought theCambodianhad vanished. But had he known it he was sending his appeals in altogether the wrong quarter, for the iceberg was slowly revolving as it lumbered its way south.“This won’t do. I mustn’t give way,â€� thought the lad, pluckily striving to overcome his depressing fears.He felt in his pockets. The tin box in which he was carrying down his midnight lunch for consumption in theCambodian’sengine room was still there.“That’s lucky,â€� thought Raynor, and was still more pleased when he found that its contents, sandwiches and a piece of pie, were not much damaged by water. He began to eat ravenously, in the meantime turning his dilemma over and over in his mind.“I’m in the steamer track anyhow,â€� he thought. “I’m bound to be sighted and picked up before long, even if theCambodianisn’t standing by and waiting for morning.â€�But then came the disquieting thought that the iceberg was drifting. He had no means of knowing how fast. But by daylight it might be far south of the steamer track, which is as well marked as any land road, and rarely deviated from by any vessels except sailing craft.“And just think how little things can grow into big ones,â€� mused the lad, as he munched his scanty store. “Jack told me not to balance on the rail. If I’d taken his advice instead of laughing at it I wouldn’t be here. I’d be on board theCambodian. Jove though—â€� he broke off suddenly, as a new thought struck him,—“maybe theCambodianwas badly ripped by the collision. She may have sunk—and Jack——â€�He buried his face in his hands, too much unnerved by all that he had gone through to think any longer. By degrees he regained possession of his faculties, however. He fell once more to revolving his plight. He need not fear death from thirst for he had his knife and could chip off fragments of ice and let them melt in his mouth when he felt so inclined. Food, though, was another consideration. He resolutely set aside two sandwiches and half his wedge of pie for emergencies.It was still dark and misty and he could see little but the blackly heaving water at his feet and the towering white walls of the berg above him. Suddenly, however, he became aware of a sound, a strange sound to hear in his present position.It was the sound of a footfall, furtive and cautious!The blood flew poundingly to the boy’s pulses. He sprang erect, knife in hand. What he might be called upon to face he did not know.But he knew he was not alone on the iceberg.His heart beat thick and hot and then seemed to stop. Advancing onward, from round a shoulder of ice which reached down to the shelf on which he had found refuge, was a tall white form.It resembled nothing that the boy had ever seen. As if in a nightmare he stood there fixed as a graven image, staring at it with starting eyes as it slowly approached him.
Simultaneously with the shivering shock of the impact with the iceberg, Billy Raynor felt himself lose his balance.
He grasped frantically at the air as he fell backward. But the next moment, too alarmed to cry out, he was himself tumbling through space. Then came the sharp shock and the icy sensation of his immersion as he struck the water.
He came to the surface, his lungs full of brine and his ears roaring as if an express train had been rushing past them. He gasped for breath and spat the salt water out. Far above him he saw for a flash the black, high hull of theCambodian. He saw her lights. For a brief instant he could hear shouts.
And then the ship had passed by. An instant later she had vanished from the castaway lad’s sight.
“Help!� yelled Raynor, finding his voice at last. He sent the cry echoing and volleying across the dark water again and again. But there was no response.
A chill of deadly fear, not altogether born of the icy water, struck in at his heart. He was alone on the Atlantic. Nothing but his own efforts would keep him above the water very long. And weighted as he was by his water-soaked clothes, he felt his strength ebbing every moment.
“Great heavens,� he moaned to himself, “is this to be the end? Am I doomed to end my life here in the ocean with nobody to know of my fate?�
He cast his eyes upward. Then he almost gave a shout of relief. Towering above him was a mighty white wall.
It was the iceberg to which he owed his predicament.
It has been said that drowning men will clutch at straws. This may, or may not, be true, but certain it is that to Billy Raynor, almost exhausted by his long fight in the chilly water, the iceberg appeared a haven of refuge. Like most of such huge ice structures it was very irregular in shape.
Near him was a spot at which a narrow shelf stretched out close to the water’s edge. Raynor struck out for it and drew himself upon the ledge of ice. Then, for a time, he lay there supine, too weak to even move.
He was fearfully cold. His teeth chattered and he felt as if his flesh must be blue. But at least he had saved his life for the time being. He knew that ten minutes more in the water would have finished him. Raynor sat up and took stock of the situation.
He was afloat on an iceberg, a precarious enough situation surely. His momentary feeling of exultation at having found a safe refuge began to fade. He felt a wave of fear pass over him. He shouted with all his might, cupping his hands and casting his voice in the direction he thought theCambodianhad vanished. But had he known it he was sending his appeals in altogether the wrong quarter, for the iceberg was slowly revolving as it lumbered its way south.
“This won’t do. I mustn’t give way,� thought the lad, pluckily striving to overcome his depressing fears.
He felt in his pockets. The tin box in which he was carrying down his midnight lunch for consumption in theCambodian’sengine room was still there.
“That’s lucky,� thought Raynor, and was still more pleased when he found that its contents, sandwiches and a piece of pie, were not much damaged by water. He began to eat ravenously, in the meantime turning his dilemma over and over in his mind.
“I’m in the steamer track anyhow,� he thought. “I’m bound to be sighted and picked up before long, even if theCambodianisn’t standing by and waiting for morning.�
But then came the disquieting thought that the iceberg was drifting. He had no means of knowing how fast. But by daylight it might be far south of the steamer track, which is as well marked as any land road, and rarely deviated from by any vessels except sailing craft.
“And just think how little things can grow into big ones,â€� mused the lad, as he munched his scanty store. “Jack told me not to balance on the rail. If I’d taken his advice instead of laughing at it I wouldn’t be here. I’d be on board theCambodian. Jove though—â€� he broke off suddenly, as a new thought struck him,—“maybe theCambodianwas badly ripped by the collision. She may have sunk—and Jack——â€�
He buried his face in his hands, too much unnerved by all that he had gone through to think any longer. By degrees he regained possession of his faculties, however. He fell once more to revolving his plight. He need not fear death from thirst for he had his knife and could chip off fragments of ice and let them melt in his mouth when he felt so inclined. Food, though, was another consideration. He resolutely set aside two sandwiches and half his wedge of pie for emergencies.
It was still dark and misty and he could see little but the blackly heaving water at his feet and the towering white walls of the berg above him. Suddenly, however, he became aware of a sound, a strange sound to hear in his present position.
It was the sound of a footfall, furtive and cautious!
The blood flew poundingly to the boy’s pulses. He sprang erect, knife in hand. What he might be called upon to face he did not know.
But he knew he was not alone on the iceberg.
His heart beat thick and hot and then seemed to stop. Advancing onward, from round a shoulder of ice which reached down to the shelf on which he had found refuge, was a tall white form.
It resembled nothing that the boy had ever seen. As if in a nightmare he stood there fixed as a graven image, staring at it with starting eyes as it slowly approached him.