The Argosy, August 1914 — page 30: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

20 | THE ARGOSY. substantial than itself by a _hair’s- breadth. As one minute succeeded another a graver fear than of ship- wreck claimed possession. She had thought to pick up the mass she was in search of readily, and she began to fear she had lost it. She had as guide only its relative position to the outer sentinels of the drift drive. Could it have been car- ried to one side or the other by a cross-current? Had she passed close without visioning it in the fog? Or— more terrible thought—had the man slipped from his support and sunk into the green, weed-carpeted depths? With brain and muscle engrossed in the task to which she had given her- self, she had forgotten to raise a hail. Now she did so, sending a clear “Hello” across the waters. The chances were the man was _ uncon- scious, if not dead, but— Close at hand the response seemed. Her calculations had been correct; she had not oversailed him, as she had begun to fear. She swung the Polly ~ Ann a little closer to the edge of the drift and called: ~ “™ Hold on. Tl take you off.” The voice that answered “ All right” was a feeble one, but coura- geous. Whoever the derelict might be, it was apparent he had not yielded himself to despair. Something about the quality of it—or perhaps it was the enunciation of the words—stirred in Jessica a suspicion that he was other than a mere sailor. She was too busy, however, for cogitation. The man had supplement- ed his “ All right” with an admonition to hurry up, which was precisely what she proposed doing. Again and again she shouted, and was guided by his answers, and at last came in view of her quarry. He lay outstretched in the center of a jumble of débris perhaps fifteen feet across. It suggested a log-drive, now opening, now closing together, and it seemed miraculous that the castaway had held his place so long. Taking him off promised even greater diff- culties than finding him, for the bois- terousness of the sea had abated im- perceptibly, if at all. The surge still curled to the height of the Polly Ann’s masthead. The wreckage was hurled hither and yon as if shot from a cannon. To remain stationary meant disaster for the cat- boat. | “Can you come over to this side?” cried Jessica. “T can’t move,” was the man’s dis- heartening reply. “ My arm’s wedged and I think it’s broken. Never mind me—you'll get into trouble yourself.” “Of course I'll mind you—that’s what I’m here for,” the girl returned indignantly. “Tl take you off— never fear.”’ The castaway refrained from reply- ing, as if harboring his strength. Jes- sica’s quick brain studied the situation. Since the man could not move un- aided, she must reach him and release his arm. That much was plain. And it was humanly possible to crawl over the loose raft of driftwood to his side, although the chances were a thousand to one against success. But what of the Polly Ann mean- while? Suddenly the solution of that problem broke clear. If the catboat were nursed to a cradle on the leeward side of the raft and brought up into the wind, it would at any rate be shel- tered from following timbers while she tried what she could do toward setting the castaway free from his trap. Only a highly skilled expert in the management of small sailing boats could have carried such a scheme into practise single-handed. The man, trapped like a rat in the timbers, watched her listlessly. Even his near- ly exhausted body was thrilled by the daring of the girl as she eased her eggshell craft and laid it snug along- side the groaning rack of woodstuff without so much as starting her paint. This, however, was the easiest part CORNICLOOOCKSs EGO