The Blue Balloon: A Tale of the Shenandoah ValleyHorsley, Reginald
History
The Blue Balloon: A Tale of the Shenandoah Valley
Horsley, Reginald
Adventure stories; Balloons -- Fiction; United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction
‘Say, Grizzly,’ he cried, ‘this is going to take me all my time. The
current is tremendous. Watch out now, and the moment you see that the
rope is taut, work your paddle for all you’re worth, so as to bring her
nose round.’
He drew a deep breath, and turning half over, cleft the water with a
powerful side-stroke, in order to bring the greatest possible force to
bear on the nose of the boat, and suddenly. It told. She stopped with a
shiver, the water churning at her bows, and slowly her nose began to
come round. Ephraim worked madly with his rifle-butt, hissing at every
splash like a stable-boy grooming a horse.
‘She’s round!’ he cried joyously. ‘She’s round, Luce! Her nose is ter
the bank!’
On hearing this satisfactory piece of intelligence, Lucius turned over
on his chest and swam with frog strokes towards the shore. He was wise
enough not to attempt this in a bee-line, but moved diagonally, content
to progress if it were but an inch at a time, so long as, aided by
Ephraim’s paddle, he could keep the boat’s nose in the right direction.
It was fortunate for him that he was young and strong, and that he knew
how to husband his strength, for he needed it all in that chill, swiftly
flowing stream.
Presently Ephraim hailed him with encouraging words: ‘Ye’re gittin’
thar, Luce. Ye’re gittin’ thar. Air ye tired, bub? Let yerself drift ef
ye air. Thar’s not a sign er any wan on the bank above or below. My! I
wish I could swim, Luce. Ye wouldn’t be long in thar. Keep it up, sonny.
Ye’re gittin’ us thar.’ And so on, with many soothing, senseless words
that fell gratefully upon the ear of the almost exhausted Lucius.
The boy lifted his eyes and glanced ahead. The bank was now but thirty
feet away; but at the rate he was making it, it was not unlikely that
ten minutes more in the water awaited him. He could not bear to think of
it, for already his limbs felt numb, and his breath began to fail him.
He shut his eyes, set his teeth hard, and struck out blindly. He heard
the plashing of Ephraim’s sorry paddle behind him, and the sound was as
the noise of thunder in his ears. His strokes became feebler and less
frequent, his body swayed more and more to the rush of the current, and
for all that he could do, the rope slackened every now and then. Still
he kept on, beating down that wild desire to hail Ephraim, who he knew
would haul him in at the first call, and slowly struggling towards the
goal of all their hopes, the shore. Suddenly his heart gave a great
leap, seeming to turn over in his chest and stop dead. A great roaring
filled his ears, his head seemed to split asunder with the force of the
pain that racked it; a shriek which made but a bubbling in the water
about his mouth burst from his throat; and as a dead-weight seemed to
drag him downwards, he threw his hands above his head.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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