The Hero of Panama: A Tale of the Great CanalBrereton, F. S. (Frederick Sadleir)
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The Hero of Panama: A Tale of the Great Canal
Brereton, F. S. (Frederick Sadleir)
Panama Canal (Panama) -- Juvenile fiction
"Aye, aye, sir. Macdougal, get to at it!" growled the mate, scowling at
the sailor, and clenching a pair of brawny fists. Not that this officer
was really angry with Macdougal. In his heart of hearts he rather
admired the man; but discipline was discipline, and the skipper had many
a time proved his own courage and discretion. Still, even his persuasion
did not make of the sailor a willing man; for the moment Macdougal was
obedient, though mutiny and smouldering anger flashed from his eyes.
Meanwhile the sinking vessel had displayed another series of erratic
movements. That sickening roll from side to side had been replaced by a
gentle pitching fore and aft, and as the seconds fled swiftly by, the
pitching had become slowly and almost imperceptibly greater. Then,
suddenly, the vessel tossed her bows into the air till her watermarks
were visible to those swimming in the ocean. But it was only for a
little while. The bows came down again with a heave, which sent her
forecastle beneath the surface, till she looked as though she were in
the act of plunging to the bottom. Up she came again, displacing a huge
mass of water, and raising a wave which spread quickly across the sea
till it reached the boat hovering at a distance and rocked it. She
canted heavily to port, showing the whole of her length of deck, and
with such a violent movement that the passenger aboard was flung clear
of the rail right out into the water. Then souse went her bows once
more, raising the stern like a pinnacle into the gloom which surrounded
everything.
"Yo grip him and get away back, quick as yo can," bellowed Tom, his
mouth almost submerged, his powerful arms bearing him swiftly to help
in the rescue. "I's close behind yo, Massa Jim."
But he might have shouted to a log of wood for all the use his words
were. Jim heard not a syllable of his warning, for his eyes and all his
attention were fixed upon the injured man who had been thrown from the
vessel. He reached him in the course of a few seconds, and turning him
upon his back supported his head.
"I'm fine," he heard the man say faintly. "This arm of mine don't give
me no more than a dog's chance of swimming. You clear off, young chap.
You've the right stuff in you, there ain't a doubt; but I'm fine. Don't
you get worrying."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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