CHAPTER XVIII.
LOST ON THE WESTERN SEA.
Not a hundred yards from him, and bobbing gently up and down on the long swells, was a small boat.
"If I can only get on board her, I'll be far better off than I would be here," muttered Nat to himself.
He kicked out vigorously and was soon alongside the drifting shallop. There was something strangely familiar about her looks to him. As he climbed on board her, by way of the stern, he soon saw why.
It was the collapsible boat which they had put overboard from the "Nomad" and the same one which he had detected the mysterious enemy of the "Island Queen" in the very act of casting loose. Seemingly that individual had achieved his malicious purpose and the boat, caught in the Pacific Drift, had slowly been drawn along in the mile-wide current of debris and flotsam. The chance was a providential one for Nat, at all events.
As will be recalled, the boat had been stocked up with provisions and a water keg put on board by the party marooned on the mysterious schooner. The first thing Nat made for was that keg. It was the work of an instant to turn the spigot and place his mouth to the refreshing stream that gushed forth. True, the water was warm, almost hot, in fact, but to Nat no nectar, brewed on high Olympus itself, could have tasted more delicious. He drank and then paused for breath and then, applying himself afresh to the spigot, he drank again.
The boy kept this up till his thirst was fully quenched, and then he turned his attention to the eatables. Luckily all the canned stuff was fitted with patent keys, so that no can opener was needed. The bag of ships biscuit contained all that was wanted in the way of bread. Nat thought, as he ate, that he had never tasted a more delicious meal.
When he had finished he gave a sigh of repletion and looked about him. The sea was still as empty as the sky. But the sun had sunk lower and the heat was not so intense.
As he gazed about him, over that vast, lonely expanse, Nat's apprehensions—lulled for a time—returned tenfold. If he was not picked up, what would become of him?
He shuddered as he realized what his fate was likely to be. When his food and water were exhausted he would drift till death overtook him. Perhaps months, and maybe years, afterward his body, dried by the heat, would be found adrift on the Pacific and form another of those "ocean mysteries," of which Captain Akers had told.
The thought was not a cheerful one and Nat tried to busy his mind with other thoughts. What were they doing on board the "Nomad"? What would they be thinking on the schooner? What of the mysterious man, of giant strength, to whose vindictive action he owed all his present trouble?
"It's a queer situation all around," thought Nat. "Here am I on the ocean in a rowboat. Joe and Captain Akers are marooned on a schooner, filled with mystery, and the 'Nomad' is crippled and drifting about some place, under sail. Shall we ever all meet again, I wonder?"
So the afternoon passed and the sun grew lower and set. Night rushed down over the sea with all the swiftness characteristic of those latitudes. Nat, his head sunk in his hands, allowed his boat to drift. He had oars, but, he felt, what was the use of using them? One way was the same as another to him in his predicament. Let the boat drift at her will.
But by and by the darkness and the inaction got on his nerves. Picking up the oars, he fell to work feverishly, trying to forget his troubles in the work. The boat fairly cut along. For some hours he kept this up and then, worn out, he cast himself on the bottom of his craft and sank into a deep sleep.
He was awakened by a sharp tug at his sleeve. Starting up, Nat heard the loud swish of wings. In the darkness he could dimly make out a huge, winged form making off through the air.
"Ugh!" he exclaimed, with a shudder, "that was some bird of prey that concluded that I was dead. It was about to make a meal off me if I had not moved."
Nat shook nervously as he realized that, if some way was not found out of his predicament before long, he would in very truth be food for just such birds.
The thought bestirred him to action. He sat bolt upright and gazed about him. But nothing that he could perceive within his limited radius of view appeared to give him hope. The night was as silent as the sea. Overhead the stars burned steadily and with a soft intensity not seen in the east.
As he gazed up at them a sudden thought was born in Nat's brain. He threw himself on his knees on the bottom of the boat and, clasping his hands, he besought his Maker to look down in pity upon him. His heart seemed lightened as he prayed.
When he had finished he looked about him once more. At first everything seemed to be the same as when he had withdrawn his gaze; but, after a minute, he perceived that on the far-distant horizon something unusual was showing. A dull, red glow.
As he gazed it grew brighter and spread till it seemed to light up the whole sky. The atmosphere burned blood-red with the light.
"A ship on fire!" thought Nat.
Then came the idea:
"If so, some of her crew have likely escaped and taken to the boats. I'll row over toward them. They say 'misery loves company.' I'm sure I shall be glad to fall in with any one to whom I can talk and who can possibly guide me to some place of safety."
So thinking, Nat fell to his oars and began pulling, with might and main, for the distant glow.
But distances at sea are deceptive. It seemed to him he had pulled at least five miles when he gave a second glance over his shoulder at the fiery sky.
To his disappointment, the blaze seemed to be as far off as ever. Nat knew, however, that this could not be the case, and, bending to his oars once more, he pluckily pulled onward. He was rewarded, in a few minutes, by finding the light growing visibly stronger and the blaze closer to hand.
As yet, however, he had seen no boats, nor traces of refugees from the burning ship—such as he surmised the glow must be caused by.
"Maybe they are all waiting near by to see the last of their vessel," thought Nat. "In that case I must hurry up or she'll have burned to the water's edge before I arrive."
But when Nat had drawn quite close the blaze was still burning fiercely. The flames were shooting up skyward, dimming the stars and making a grand spectacle. Fountains of sparks soared heavenward as every now and then some beam subsided with a crash. Nat could hear the hissing of the water as charred embers fell overboard.
What rig the vessel had been was, of course, impossible for the boy to make out, for when he arrived within a short distance of her she was already burned down to a mere hulk. Her masts and upper works had vanished some time before, a prey to the savage flames.
All at once a hail came across the waters.
"Boat ahoy!"
To Nat it seemed that he must be in a dream. It could not be possible that the voice he heard was Joe Hartley's, and yet it was mighty familiar.
Again came the hail. This time there was no question about it. It was Joe, though how he happened to be there Nat had no idea. Half stunned by astonishment, he hailed back:
"Joe—old fellow—is it really you!"
"Sure enough, Nat," cried the voice, while a cheer, given in hearty American style, rang out over the crimsoned waters.
At the same instant, from the midst of the intense glare, which had hitherto prevented Nat from seeing any distance, glided the well-known form of the "Nomad." Nat came near fainting a second time from sheer surprise as he saw her, for the power-craft was not under sail, but came gliding swiftly on, evidently running under motor power.
Ten minutes later he was on board and after a perfect tempest of congratulations, handshakings and questions had been bandied about, Joe explained it all.
After Nat had been missed from the "Island Queen," they naturally suffered most intense anxiety on his behalf. What made it all the more puzzling was that the boat was missing also. But right then they had troubles of their own on hand as well as Nat's strange disappearance. It will be recalled that the two were asleep when Nat was hurled overboard from the schooner and they did not—as Nat had surmised would be the case—awaken till some time later.
When they did so it was to find Nat gone and the schooner staggering along, at a lively gait, under all sail. Luckily Captain Akers recalled that he had seen some navigating instruments in the cabin of the "Island Queen." As the bearings of the "Nomad" had been taken the day before, it was a simple matter by figuring out their then position to sail the schooner back to where they had left her—simple, that is, so far as the mathematical part of the proposition went.
But the "sailor part" of it was different. Luckily, however, the wind did not increase in violence and, leaving the helm to Joe, Captain Akers managed to get the vessel about. To their huge delight, they found that the good sense of Captain Nelsen had prevented the "Nomad" being moved in search of them, as had been the wish of the others left on board. Captain Nelsen, however, had argued that they had better stop right in that position, or as nearly so as possible, in case Captain Akers did find—as proved to be the case—his way back again.
The "Nomad" and the schooner were then coupled together by means of grappling irons and amid general rejoicing—which was sadly marred by the news of Nat's vanishment—the work of transferring her cargo of kerosene to the "Nomad" was begun. While it went on Sam Hinckley, skillfully mended up the fuel tanks and, after they were declared tight, they were filled. The engine was started and was found to work perfectly on the stuff, as, in fact, the builders had assured Captain Akers it would.
"So there we were, all ready to go onward once more, but without you we could not and would not proceed," said Joe, throwing his arm about Nat's shoulders as the latter sat beside him on the "Nomad's" bridge, the glow of the fire still lighting up the scene.
"But, Joe," exclaimed Nat, "you haven't yet told me the most interesting part of all this. What vessel is that on fire? And what has become of the mysterious sailor?"
"I'm coming to that," said Joe.
"I wish you had begun there," laughed Nat, "considering that the rascal threw me overboard."
"Listen and you will hear his fate," said Joe, with a grandiloquent air. Nat hung on his words as the lad proceeded.