CHAPTER XXI
A STRIKE FOR UNCLE SAM.
How long it was that Ned sat reviewing the situation in all itsbearings he never knew. But it must have been a considerable period,for, when he began to take notice of his surroundings once more, thefirst flush of an early summer's dawn was visible behind him as hefaced what he judged to be the mainland.
The light showed the character of the country across the broad channelwhich separated him from it to be much the same as that of the islandon which he had been marooned by the anarchists. It was criss-crossedwith sand dunes till it resembled a crumpled bit of yellow parchment.Scanty, spear-like grass grew in hummocks on the undulations. As thelight became stronger sea birds began to whirl about him, screamingweirdly.
Ned gazed seaward. Far out on the horizon was a smudge of black smoke.It was too great in volume for one vessel to have made. The cloudreached as far as the eye could see; as if a gigantic and dirty thumbhad been swept across the sky line. To Ned it meant one thing.
"The fleet has passed down the coast on its way to Blackhaven," hemused. "Oh! for a chance to get to the mainland."
For a time he was in hopes that some fishing craft, or small boat,might pass within hail. But nothing of the kind occurred.
"I've got to get something to eat pretty soon," thought Ned, who wasbeginning to feel faint, "or--hullo! where have I seen that log before?"
His gaze was riveted on a big spar that was drifting idly through thearm of sea that swept between him and the land.
"I saw that fellow go through here last night; the tide must haveturned and it's drifting back. Well, that settles it. There's almost asmuch water and current in there at low water as at high."
He fell to pacing the beach moodily. Once in desperation he waded intothe turbid water and essayed to swim. But he was instantly swept fromhis feet, and a strong undertow seized on his legs and drew them down.When, panting and trembling, he stood once more on shore, he resolvednot to risk his life in that manner again.
"An elephant couldn't swim that," he said to himself sadly.
All at once he looked up, from one of his despairing moods, to seesomething that caused him to choke and gasp with hope. Bobbing about onthe water, not a hundred yards from the shore, was--of all things--asmall boat!
Ned watched it fascinated.
Would the current drift it within his reach, or would it be carriedtantalizingly past him? At the moment he gave little thought as tohow it came to be there. It was enough for him that it was a boat,and offered--providing he could reach it--a means of getting to themainland.
In an agony of apprehension he watched the little craft as it came on,dancing merrily on the choppy ripples of the inlet. Now it shot intoward the shore, as if it meant to drive bow-on upon the beach, andthen, as Ned sprang forth to grasp it, the current would sweep it outof his reach. At last it was abreast of him, and in the next second ithad passed beyond. Ned grew desperate.
"Better die in the effort to get to land than perish here of starvationand thirst," he thought.
Without bothering to kick his shoes off he sprang into the water, whichwas deep right up to the margin of the shore, and swam out after theboat.
In a flash he felt the undertow grip him. He struck out with everyounce of reserve strength that he possessed, but the current provedthe stronger of the two. Ned, weakened by his long fast and roughexperiences, found himself being rapidly drawn under.
Fighting every inch of the way he was gradually submerged. With a lasteffort he struck out again, but the final struggle proved too much forhis already depleted muscles.
The boy was sucked under like a straw.
Where his head had appeared a second before, there was now nothing butthe whirl of the waters.
Suddenly, just as it felt as if his lungs must burst, Ned was shot upto the surface once more. Too weak to strike out he flung out his handsin a desperate effort to clutch at anything to sustain his weight.
His hands closed on something solid that buoyed him up refreshingly. Itwas the gunwale of the boat!
Ned hung limply to her side, getting back his strength as she glidedalong. After several minutes he felt equal to the effort of trying toboard her. He kicked his way round to the stern and clambered over thetransom.
Once on board he lay languidly on the thwarts for some time, too muchexhausted even to move. But by-and-bye, his strength began to trickleback. He raised himself and looked around him. About the first objecthis eyes lighted on was a bit of crumpled paper in the bottom of thecraft.
"Maybe this is some sort of a clew as to how the boat happened along soprovidentially," thought Ned.
He opened the paper, scanned the few words it contained, and then hisjaw dropped in sheer amazement. The words of the note were in Herc'sbig, scrawly handwriting.
"_Ned, Hope you find the boat. I heard them say they had marooned youon an island, so I cut the rope. Herc._"
Ned saw at once what had happened, even if a glance at the cut end ofrope in the bow had not told him. Herc had managed to reach out of thecabin port and slash the rope by which the dinghy had been attached tothe sloop's stern. It had been a long chance, but it had won out.
"I don't believe there's another chap in the world like good old Herc,"thought Ned tenderly, with a suspicious mist in his eyes as he thoughtof his absent comrade; then he took up the oars.
"Now where shall I row to?" he asked himself, as he pulled the boatalong.
He scanned the barren-looking coast, with its inhospitable sand dunesand melancholy-colored grass, with the sea birds wheeling and screamingabove.
"Humph! Not much choice, apparently. I guess I'll pull just inside ofthat little point yonder, and then strike out across the country. I'llhave to trust to luck to find somebody who'll give me a hand."
Half an hour later Ned pulled the small boat ashore and abandoned it.
When he landed he had cherished some hopes of finding a fisherman'shut, or "beachcomber's" dwelling behind the rampart of sand dunes. Butno trace of even such primitive habitations met his eye. Salt meadows,threaded by muddy, sluggish creeks, lay inland, and beyond was risingground dotted with clumps of woodland.
This looked hopeful. Determined to keep pegging along to the uttermostthat was in him, Ned struck out across the salt meadows.
It was harder work than he had thought. Under the hot sun the miasmicsalt land steamed and perspired. Rank odors arose, and the muddy creekssteamed. Once or twice he had to wade through the foul water courses,and, at such times myriads of bloated-looking crabs, that had beensunning themselves, scuttled, with splashes, into the water.
To add to his discomfort, as the sun grew higher, millions of blackflies and stinging midges arose to plague him. They settled on himin swarms. Every time Ned wiped out a legion of the tormentors thathad settled on his face, his countenance bore a red smudge. By thetime he had--he hardly knew how--traversed this bad bit of countryand found himself on a dusty white highroad, Ned was scarcely apresentable-looking object. Mud, from the creeks he had waded, cakedhis legs; his face was red and bloody from the onslaughts of theinsects. His clothes were tattered from his fight on the sloop, and,altogether, he was not an object to inspire confidence.
To add to his misfortunes, he had no money, and Ned knew enough of theworld to know that a lad in his condition, tattered and penniless, doesnot, as a rule, excite any feeling but suspicion. However, when abouthalf a mile further on he came to a small house nestling among rosevines and creepers, he walked bravely up to the door and knocked.
A prim-looking old maid, in a checked apron, opened the door. As soonas her eyes fell on Ned she uttered a shrill scream and slammed thedoor with an exclamation of alarm and indignation.
"Get along with you, you tramp!" she cried.
Ned turned and trudged down the footpath. But, as he reached the gate,he heard a commotion behind him. He turned just in time to face a big,savage-looking bulldog that was about to fly at his leg. Ned raised hisfoot and planted it fair and
square on the snarling animal's mouth.
The dog fled with a yelp of pain. Ned followed it with his eyes.
"I'll bet that cur has fared better than I have for the lasttwenty-four hours," he muttered as he once more began his wearytrudging along the dusty highroad.