CHAPTER FIVE
_RESCUE_
A fresh gust of wind sent the waves leaping higher, and for a momentonly the furious lake could be seen. Ramsay rose, and Pieter rose besidehim; and both went to the barn door. They stood alert, still notspeaking and not even certain of what they had seen. Then they saw itagain.
Beyond any possible doubt it was the _Spray_, and she was workingvaliantly to get into shore. Ramsay swallowed a lump in his throat. Hehad first seen the _Spray_ as a dancing bit of gaiety on a lake asstormy as this one, and then she had seemed so sure of herself and socapable. Now she was like a shot-wounded duck which, no longer able torise in graceful flight, must lie on the water and flutter desperatewings. For another tense moment Ramsay and Pieter stood side by side.
By inches the _Spray_ was fighting her way toward shore, but a glancewas sufficient to reveal the tremendous odds against her ever makingsafety. Still, even in this terrible dilemma, there was a spirit abouther which the _Holter_ never had and never could have. The two men onthe _Spray_--and did not the crazy Dutch fisherman usually carry a crewof four?--seemed to be working calmly and easily. There was, from thisdistance, no trace of the near-panic that had reigned when the _Holter_went down.
Ramsay knew a moment's intense gratification. This was part of thedream, part of the picture he had engraved in his heart when he firstsaw the _Spray_ and her skipper. When they challenged the lake, theyaccepted it in all its aspects. Now they were behaving as all fishermenshould behave. Before they could even begin to follow their trade theymust make an unbreakable pact with their fortune on the water, be itgood or bad.
Then the trance was broken. Out on the lake, within sight of Pieter andRamsay, men were about to die. They must not die if there was any way tohelp them. As though their eyes were guided by one common impulse, bothmen looked toward Pieter's small boat.
It was a clumsy craft, strongly-built of heavy timbers which Pieterhimself had hand-sawed in his spare time. Usually, when Pieter wasn'tusing the boat, it was pulled high enough on the beach so storm-drivenbattering rams of waves could not touch it, and so it was now. Side byside, with no need to speak, Pieter and Ramsay left the barn and racedtoward the boat.
Wind-driven rain soaked their clothing before they had gone ten feet,but they paid no attention to it. Kneeling, one on either side of thefourteen-foot boat, they strove to push it back into the lake. Pietershouted to make himself heard above the roar of the wind and thesmashing waves. "Wait!"
Ramsay stopped pushing while Pieter took the long oars out of theirlocks and laid them lengthwise in the boat. The boy nodded approvingly.As things were, it seemed all but impossible to launch the boat. If theylaunched it and lost an oar in the high seas, they were doomed todisaster, anyhow.
"Now!" Pieter shouted.
The boat scraped a deep furrow in the wet sand as, with a concertedeffort, they pushed it backwards. Not looking at the savage combers,Ramsay gave all his attention to the boat. They would have to work withall possible speed to get it into the lake and the oars in place,because the waves were rising to enormous heights now. He felt theboat's square stern touch water.
Then an irresistible giant, a force that would bear no interference,took hold and shoved the little craft almost as far up on the beach asit had been when they tried to launch it. Leaving the boat half-filledwith water, the smashing wave washed away from the wet sand.
Ramsay stood erect to catch his breath. They had given all theirstrength to backing the boat into the lake, and as they were about tosucceed it had been plucked from their hands as easily as a strong manmight snatch a flower from the hands of a baby. He glanced out acrossthe water to assure himself that the _Spray_ was still floating, thenlooked desperately at Pieter.
"Nose first!" Pieter said. "Turn it around!"
He shouted to make himself heard, but there was about him an almostmaddening calmness as he worked. Ramsay restrained his impatience. Theymust not lose a second's time; but if they were going to do this at all,it must be done exactly right. Both on one side of the boat, theyraised it to let the water spill out.
In spite of his drenched clothing and the cold air that blew in from thelake, Ramsay was sweating. Pieter's boat had been built by a farmer, nota fisherman. It was all right on a calm day when Pieter wanted to gofishing, but certainly it had never been built to weather storms. Soheavy was the craft that the combined strength of two men was needed totip the water from it.
They let the boat drop heavily back on its side, and the oars fell out.Still calmly, refusing to become excited, Pieter picked them up andplaced them in the oar locks. Again Ramsay understood. Both men knewthis for a furious storm but both had underestimated its fury. At thebest, should they be able to get the boat into the lake, they would havea split second to float her and the oars had to be ready. It was betterto take a chance on losing an oar than to have the boat driven back ontothe beach.
Kneeling, Ramsay felt his muscles stand out like stretched cords as hegave every ounce of strength to turning the boat around. He was sweatingagain--and short of breath. Only the pressing urgency and the great needfor immediate action gave him the strength to continue.
Then the craft seemed to move a little easier, and Ramsay glanced aroundto see Marta working beside them. Noting them from the house, andunderstanding their mission, she had thrown a shawl about her shouldersand raced out to help. With almost maddening slowness the boat turneduntil its curved nose faced the lake.
Ramsay on one side and Pieter on the other slid it down the wet sandtoward the water. The boy bit his lip fiercely to help keep control ofhimself. Nothing must go amiss here, and a wrong or panic-stricken movecould mean disaster. Because this launching demanded machine-likeprecision, Ramsay fought to control the fire in his brain. Carefully hethought out each exact step.
Get the boat into the lake until it floated. Then leap in beside Pieter,grab an oar and time his strokes to Pieter's. Fight their way out to thestricken _Spray_ and rescue those aboard her.
It seemed a simple matter, but never before in his whole life had Ramsayfaced anything more complex. It couldn't be done, his mind said, whileat the same time something else told him that it could and must be done.He glanced around and curiously, as though the picture were registeringsomewhere other than in his own eyes, he saw Marta Van Hooven.
She was standing at the edge of the lake, her dress and shawl sodden-wetand her rain-soaked blond hair clinging like a seal's fur to her headand shoulders. One hand covered her mouth, as though to stifle a crythat was half-born there, and in her eyes were a great pleading and agreat prayer as she watched her husband. But the cry did not find life.She uttered no sound. While she did not want Pieter to go, at the sametime she knew that he must. Only if help came did anyone left alive onthe _Spray_ have even a faint chance of staying alive.
Then they were in the lake, and a mighty wave burst like a water-filledbomb about them. It staggered Ramsay and sent him reeling, but it didnot unnerve him. Because he had practised in his own imagination what hemust do from here on in, he could do it.
He felt cold water creeping about his shoes and then up around hisknees. The boat which they had been dragging steadied itself as theyreached water in which it could float. Through the blinding spray thatlashed at them Ramsay looked across at Pieter. He saw him onlyindistinctly, but it was as though they read each other's thoughts. Atexactly the same moment they flung themselves into opposite sides of therower's seat and each grabbed an oar. The boy bent his back to theman-killing job of rowing.
The boat was sluggish, and again half-filled with water. But it floated,and as soon as they were free of the mighty waves that smashed againstthe beach it floated a little more easily. Ramsay looked back across thesteel-gray turmoil to see the Van Hooven farm, and Marta still on theshore. Then he returned all his attention to the task at hand.
The lake was an insane thing, bent on destruction. They went into thetrough of a wave and rose on the next one. Ramsay risked a fleetingbackward glance
to see the _Spray_, much nearer the shore and stillafloat.
Suddenly they were in an almost-calm stretch of water. Ramsay felt coldfear run up and down his spine. He had met this on the sinking _Holter_,and now here it was again. Almost fearfully he glanced sidewise atPieter, but he could not speak because the screaming wind would havedrowned his words as soon as he uttered them. His eyes grew big.
Just behind, and again on the right side, an apparition drifted out ofthe depths. It was a ghost figure, a thing born of nightmares. Ramsaygasped. The White Sturgeon nosed to the surface, drifted lazily for amoment and disappeared back into the watery depths out of which it hadcome.
Ramsay risked a sidewise glance at Pieter, whose face remainedundisturbed, and he swallowed the lump in his own throat. Sailors mightfear the White Sturgeon, but if Pieter did, he was not showing his fear.The boy told himself again that the sturgeon was a fish, nothing more orless than a great fish which, through some freak of nature, was coloredwhite. But it did seem to appear only when death and destruction stalkedthe lake. He forced such thoughts from his mind.
They were again in storm-lashed water, striving to keep their boatstraight and headed toward the _Spray_. Vast waves bore down upon them,plunging the little craft into their cold troughs and then shooting itup as though it were a plaything. From the crest of the waves Ramsaycould still see the _Spray_. He worried. Now there seemed to be only oneman aboard her.
There was a sharp, sickening crack and the sound of splintering wood,that rose above the roar of the wind and the surge of the waves. Theboat slewed sideways, and for the first time Pieter Van Hooven's facebetrayed emotion. He brought in the stump of oar remaining in his handand, at the risk of upsetting the little boat, leaned across the seat tosnatch Ramsay's oar from its lock. With that in his hand, he made aprecarious way to the stern. He thrust the oar over the rear seat,trying to use it as a rudder, and the boy strove to overcome the fear hefelt.
The White Sturgeon, the sailors' superstition said, always broughtdisaster. If you see it, the little deck hand had told Ramsay, you canstart praying right afterwards. For one terror-filled moment theirpredictions seemed correct. Twice Ramsay had seen the White Sturgeon;each time he had been in immediate danger of death. Then superstitionsubsided and reason came back to his aid.
Crouching in the back seat, with only one oar, Pieter Van Hooven wasdoing his best to fight the angry lake. Though he was a farmer,obviously he knew something of seamanship.
For a brief moment, just long enough to keep from capsizing, he kept thelittle boat headed into the onrushing waves. When he turned it, he didso skilfully. Working the oar only with the strength in his hard-muscledarms, he headed back towards shore. A mighty wave smashed the stern,throwing cold water over them and across the tiny craft. Ramsay movedfrom side to side, doing all he could to help Pieter by shifting hisweight to where it was needed most. The boat was three-quarters filledwith water. Never made for a heavy sea, now it was an almost dead thing.But so strong were the waves and so powerful the wind, that they weredriven at almost motor speed back into the beach. Ramsay had one glimpseof Marta.
Pieter lost the little control he had. Turning sidewise, the boat liftedlike a matchstick on the crest of a giant wave and spun dizzily downinto the trough. It was lifted again, and just before it turned overRamsay flung himself clear. As he did, he saw Pieter go over with him.
He dived as deeply as he could, knowing that the boat would comecrashing down and knowing also that it would kill him if it struck himon the head. Far into the lake he went, swimming under water and gropinghis way. He surfaced to see the craft to one side and a bobbing object,which he thought was the head of Pieter Van Hooven. A second later atremendous wave deposited him on the sandy beach.
He lay gasping, all the breath knocked out of him, and he wisheddesperately to get out of the path of the waves that were breaking overhim. But it seemed impossible to move. His mind urged him to go, but helacked the physical strength to obey. Then he felt a pair of hands inhis armpits, and his body was dragged over the scraping sand. Ramsaylooked up to see the frightened face of Marta Van Hooven.
"Can you move?" she pleaded.
"Gi--give me a minute!"
For what seemed an interminable time, but could not have been more thantwenty seconds, Ramsay lay still. He turned over so that he lay facedown, and lifted himself with his arms. His legs and feet were made ofjelly. Vaguely he was aware of Marta and Pieter Van Hooven, one on eachside, lifting him to his feet. A second later his strength returned.
Keening in from the lake, the wind made him stagger backwards. Reachingmountainous heights, the breaking waves shattered themselves far up onthe beach. Ramsay looked across them. About two hundred yards out, the_Spray_ was completely crippled. Trailing from her broken mast, thesail bled water into the angry lake. Down at the bows, the fisherman'sboat seemed hung up on a rock or reef. Every second wave that washed inbroke completely over her and hid her from view. But the single manremaining on board still worked calmly with the broken half of an oar,to free the _Spray_ from her prison.
Ramsay allowed himself another split second. The entire dream was comingtrue. There were some men who, to the last, could meet the challenge ofthe lake with grace and spirit. The man on the _Spray_, identified evenat this distance as Hans Van Doorst, had not given up.
The boy whirled on Pieter Van Hooven. "A coil of rope!" he ejaculated.
Without waiting to see whether or not Pieter followed his instructions,he raced for the barn. Snatching a bridle from its wooden peg, he wentmore slowly toward the corral where the little black horse was confined.
This had happened once before and it might happen again. A man'sstrength was as nothing in the raging lake, but a horse was many timesas strong as a man. The black horse had brought him safely in when allthe others had drowned.
The little horse arched his neck and flicked his ears when his youngfriend approached and patted him.
"Easy," Ramsay said reassuringly. "Take it easy, Black."
The little horse rested his head over the boy's shoulder for a moment,then the latter stepped back to slip the bit into Black's mouth, put thebridle over his ears and buckle the throat latch. The horse followedwillingly behind him as he pushed the corral's gate aside.
He mounted, and Black reared and pranced, just to prove that he could.Ramsay tried not to look at the lake, but he couldn't help looking. Whenhe did, very lonely in the gray waves, he saw the reef- or rock-bound_Spray_. The lone fisherman still could be seen, working to free hiscraft.
Ramsay leaned forward to pat the little horse on the neck. "We can doit," he murmured. "Let's prove it."
He took the bridle reins in his hand and trotted Black toward thefoaming lake. Pieter, his eyes grave, tossed him a coil of half-inchrope. Ramsay had one glimpse of Marta's anguished face. He slipped thecoil of rope over his shoulder and did not look back.
As they approached the lake, the horse hesitated, to paw the sand with afront hoof. He looked around to eye the rider on his back, and againRamsay leaned forward. "All right," he said. "Go on."
The horse accepted his words but, more than that, his confidence. Guidedby the bridle's touch, he walked willingly into the pounding lake.Another water bomb exploded about them. They submerged, but Black cameup swimming strongly. Ramsay kept soft fingers on the bridle reins, notwanting to exert any pressure or do anything else that might divert thehorse from the job at hand.
Tossing his head, Black sneezed to empty his nose of water that hadwashed into it. He was timing himself capably and almost perfectly tomeet the waves at their place of least resistance, and he rose and fellwith them. From the crests Ramsay could see the _Spray_. From thetroughs he could see nothing. A lump rose in his throat.
The _Spray_ was indeed sadly wounded. Only part of her stern showedabove water. Hans Van Doorst still worked with a broken oar to free hisboat, and as soon as he came near enough Ramsay knew that he had beenright.
The Dutch fisherman had been one with the l
ake when Ramsay first sawhim, and he was one with it now. Unafraid, he fought the lake asgracefully as a swordsman. Perched on the broken stump of mast, the seagull fluttered his wings and clicked his mandibles.
Ramsay gauged the situation as precisely as he could. If he could throwhis rope over the stranded _Spray_, the little horse might be able topull it from its anchor and back to shore. Ramsay saw Hans Van Doorstturn to watch him. The fisherman waved a friendly hand.
Still guiding Black lightly, imposing no undue strain on the reins orbit, Ramsay steered him across the _Spray's_ sunken prow. He let thereins hang slackly on the horse's neck and took the coil of rope fromhis shoulder. As precisely as he could, he cast and watched the ropesnake through the air.
A sick feeling arose in the pit of his stomach and he moaned audibly. Hehad calculated the distance correctly but he had not allowed for thestrength of the wind. The rope missed Hans Van Doorst's outstretchedhands by two feet and fell into the angry lake. Of his own volition,Black turned back toward shore. Ramsay saw the squawking sea gull bouncea couple of feet into the air and spread his long wings. Grasping thereins, for the first time the boy used strength as he strove to turn thehorse back. He glanced over his shoulder to see what might be done next,and gasped.
Hans Van Doorst had gone to the raised stern of his wrecked boat to givehimself a running start, and as Ramsay looked, he dived. Leaping as faras possible from the _Spray_ to avoid striking the rock, he hurledhimself into the storm-lashed lake, straight at his would-be rescuers.For a few seconds that seemed like hours, he disappeared into thechurning depths, but when he surfaced he was squarely behind Ramsay andhe used both hands to grasp the horse's tail.
Black turned back toward shore. He swam more strongly now because he wasgoing with the wind instead of against it, and his double burden did notseem unduly heavy. Ramsay saw Pieter and Marta Van Hooven, Pieter's handprotectingly over his wife's shoulder, as they waited to see what wouldhappen.
The last wave burst around them and they were back on shore. InstantlyRamsay slid from the little horse's back and looked around. A nauseaseized him. Hans Van Doorst was no longer in sight. Ramsay had tried andfailed. He glanced toward the _Spray_, as though he expected to see thecrazy Dutch fisherman still there, and knew only that waves weresmashing the boat into kindling wood.
Then, as though he had literally risen from the lake, Hans Van Doorstpicked himself up from the wreckage of a breaking wave and walkedashore. His tame sea gull fluttered out of the sky to alight on itsmaster's shoulder. The Dutchman reached up to stroke his pet as helooked at Pieter and Ramsay. "None but me and Captain Klaus?" he asked.
"None, Hans," Pieter said.
For a moment an infinite sadness, a melancholy born thousands of yearsago in the first fisherman who had seen his mates lost, pervaded theDutchman. But it was only for a moment. Pieter and Ramsay walked to hisside and offered their assistance. He declined it.
"I'll walk," he said.
Ramsay felt a great warmth for and a vast sympathy with this man who,while daring all and losing all, could remain so very human. Martahovered solicitously near as they all went up to the house and woretheir dripping clothes into her immaculate kitchen. Hans Van Doorst satdown, tried to fold his arms across his chest, and winced.
"You're hurt!" Marta cried.
"It is nothing." The Dutch fisherman looked at the three. "It happenedout on the lake. We struck something, I do not know what. Perhaps thehalf-submerged hull of a sunken ship. Then we were in trouble."
Marta was stooping beside him, gently unbuttoning his soaking-wet shirt.Hans Van Doorst looked fondly down at her wet and bedraggled hair, andhe offered no protest as his upper body was bared. There was a vast,ugly scar on the right side of his chest, and when Marta touched himthere his ribs moved. The Dutchman sat very straight in his chair.Though he must have felt pain, he showed none.
Ramsay and Pieter stood aside while Marta worked expertly. Ripping oneof her snow-white sheets into strips, she wound a bandage tightly aroundHans Van Doorst's broken ribs. Ramsay and Pieter looked significantly ateach other. Such an injury _might_ have resulted when wind or a heavywave flung the fisherman against something. Probably it had happenedwhen Hans flung himself forward in an effort to rescue a shipmate.
Marta finished her bandaging and stepped back. "You rest now."
He grinned at her. "Fishermen have no time for rest."
"Do as she says, Hans," Pieter urged.
"Come," said Marta. She went to a bedroom, opened the door and waitedexpectantly.
Hans Van Doorst spread eloquent hands. "Who can argue with a woman?" heasked. "Especially a Dutch woman?"
He rose, went into the room, and closed the door behind him. Ten minuteslater, Marta opened the door a crack and peeked in. She entered, andcame out with Hans Van Doorst's clothing.
"He sleeps," she announced. "Like a man worn out he sleeps."
Ramsay changed his wet clothes for some dry ones Pieter had given himand went out to catch Black. From the house's ridge pole, Captain Klaus,Hans Van Doorst's tame sea gull, squawked at him. Ramsay grinned back,walked up to the little horse, rubbed him down, and put him back in thecorral. He did the rest of his chores, and when he went into the housefor dinner Hans Van Doorst was seated at the table.
"I told him!" Marta scolded. "I told him to stay in bed and I wouldbring him his food. But can I talk reason to a Dutchman?"
"Marta," Hans Van Doorst said softly, "there is fishing to be done."
Eager interest glowed in Pieter's eyes. "Are you going again, Hans?"
"I am a fisherman."
"You are crazy," Marta corrected. "One day you will kill yourself onthat lake."
Again the sadness, the inborn melancholy, sat like a mask on the Dutchfisherman. But only for a moment.
"Marta," he said, "fishermen do not die in bed."
The Spell of the White Sturgeon Page 5