Chapter XVI: The Floating Mine

Sheer fright took possession of him in that first moment of realisation and he hurled his voice time and again into the tempest, shouted until his breath was gone and the knowledge that all his appeals were vain settled upon him. Aboard the destroyer they had not even known, and now she was far off in the darkness, and all help from her was past praying for. He could have fainted from terror and the numbing cold of the sea, but somehow he fought off the weakness. He was swimming mechanically as well as his cramped arms would let him, weighted down by heavy clothing and yet kept barely afloat by the life-preserver under his rain jacket. He tried to think calmly, to plan, and, gasping, shaking with the chill of the icy water and the fear that clutched his heart, he forced himself into a calmer state.

He could, he supposed, manage to keep afloat indefinitely, for sinking was impossible so long as that life-preserver remained strapped under his arms, but how long he would be able to stand the chill of the icy water was another question. He recalled numerous stories of shipwrecks, but none supplied him information on the problem. There was, however, one thing certain, which was that he didn’t need that heavy waterproof jacket and trousers and hat. They made it more difficult for him to keep his head up and more difficult to swim, and swimming was the only thing to do if he was to keep his blood in circulation. After many attempts he kicked himself free from the trousers and removed the jacket and cap. It was no easy matter while battling with the waves and keeping his head above water.

But he did it somehow, and the effort restored his courage and drove some of the numbness from around his heart. Relieved of the stiff garments, swimming was far easier, although real swimming was out of the question. About all he could do was work arms and legs and shake the water from his eyes and do his best not to swallow it. He was a good swimmer and as much at home in the water as any American boy of his age, but no amount of swimming ability would have availed much here. He was swept up the long slope of a wave, poised helplessly for a moment on the high crest and then dropped down and down into the next seething hollow. He breathed when he could and fought on, swimming as easily as he might to conserve his strength and finding to his joy that the chill was no longer intolerable. He longed intensely for daylight and tried to think how long it would be in coming. He had been relieved at two o’clock and it began to grow light about four. With daylight he might sight land or, at least, tell better in which direction to guide himself. Now it was only guesswork. And by day there was always the chance of rescue. He found what encouragement he could in these thoughts and struggled on, changing stroke from time to time as one set of muscles tired.

He recalled those first moments of panic and felt ashamed of them, and was glad that Steve hadn’t witnessed them. If one had to drown one could, he told himself, do it decently and not squeal like a kid. He didn’t want to drown a bit: life had never looked more desirable than it did at that moment. There was a lot to live for. Why, he _couldn’t_ die until they had settled that war! That would be too horrible, never to know how it came out! Unless――well, he somehow doubted if they troubled themselves much with wars in Heaven! Of course, he might not get to Heaven, though. He reviewed a very blameless life in detail and was relieved to discover that, after all, he hadn’t been desperately wicked. There were some things he preferred not to dwell on overlong, to be sure, but as a whole he seemed to stand a fair chance of getting by!

He was sorry that his mother and father would be so worried. The _Warren_ would report him lost at sea, and, whether he was rescued or――well, wasn’t rescued, it would be a long time, he supposed, before he could reach them with the news of his safety. That troubled him a good deal. Then he wondered about Steve. Steve would feel pretty badly, he guessed. They were rather fond of each other, although they each took mighty good care not to let the other suspect it! Yes, Steve would be rather broken-up in the morning. And――why, it _was_ morning――almost! From the dizzy summit of a wave his eyes, half-blinded with salt water, glimpsed a new greyness in the sky. After that he thought of morning and sunlight――he longed for sunlight――and watched the first signs of dawn creep up in the east until, presently, he could see about him. And, seeing, a touch of the old terror came back, for all that met his gaze was mile on mile of surging, stormy, wind-swept ocean, stretching off on every side to an empty horizon! The immensity of it frightened him and he closed his eyes and for a long moment didn’t dare open them again. When he did the sea had taken on colour from the leaden dawn――there was to be no sunlight for him, after all――and he was floating in a green world flecked with white foam, a tiny, helpless, forgotten atom.

But presently the atom took courage again. The ocean was no bigger now than it had been last night, while his chance of rescue was a thousand times better. At least, he would keep on hoping until the very end. He wouldn’t be a quitter even if there was no one to know it. He stopped swimming and floated for a long while, swallowing more water than was pleasant, but managing to rest his tired lungs. Then the chill warned him and he went on. It was broad daylight now: probably five o’clock, or a little after. The wind seemed less violent, although the waves still ran as high as ever. He had been in the water fully three hours, he reckoned. He believed he could swim for an hour longer, by resting at times, but the chill of the icy element was gradually producing a kind of paralysis in his muscles. He had felt nothing approaching cramp, but that might, probably would, come later. He thought he would retain consciousness most of the day. After that――well, unless he had his senses and could keep his head up the life-preserver wouldn’t deserve its name!

He experienced a trying ten or fifteen minutes when a fit of shivering and nausea attacked him, but after being slightly sick at his stomach he felt better. Thirst made itself felt, and he mentally predicted a day of discomfort, if not suffering, from that cause. His throat and mouth were parched with the salt and swallowing was difficult. He felt no interest in food.

At times the sky grew perceptibly lighter in the east, but the low, lead-hued clouds never actually parted. At those moments the giant waves became more translucent and he could look down for what seemed many fathoms into shadowed green depths. Only twice did he see any life about him. Once a large bird scudded down-wind, and once a ghostly, dully-gleaming denizen of the sea passed slowly beneath him as he was swept up the curving side of a wave. He thought the bird was probably an albatross, although he had never seen one to his knowledge. At least, it was much too large for a gull. The fish caused him to think unpleasantly of sharks, but common sense comforted him. No dangerous shark, he told himself, would be found in water of this temperature!

Time and again, suspended momentarily on the crest of wave, he searched the ocean on all sides. But not even a bit of wreckage met his gaze. He had but scant idea of his whereabouts. He might be anywhere from fifty to a hundred and fifty miles west of the Scilly Islands, as to latitude, and somewhere in a general southerly direction from Cape Clear. But that was only guesswork. What did seem probable was that he was in the path of trans-Atlantic shipping. If, he told himself many times, he could fight off the cold and the thirst he would surely be picked up before night. But there were less hopeful moments when he realised that in such a tumbled sea so small a speck as he presented might never be seen.

Another hour went by: perhaps more: that, too, was only guesswork, for his watch had stopped at seven minutes to three. Then from the frothy, wind-tumbled summit of a wave his eyes received the fleeting impression of an object perhaps a quarter-mile away. The next instant he was plunging down into the lead-green trough. He swam hard to win the crest of the next hill of water, and when he had done so looked eagerly again. But only wind-hurled water met his gaze, and a keen disappointment took possession of him. He tried to bring back the picture of the small, dark speck, but his glimpse had been so brief that memory failed him. Once more he was borne aloft and once more he swept the sea. And this time, just as his descent began again, the object sprang into sight. He swung his course and, fighting the forces of wind and water, swam desperately in the direction of the thing that might be an empty boat or a piece of wreckage, that, whatever it was, would be something to lay hand to.

He was soon tuckered, for he was struggling at an angle with the sweep of the seas, but he persevered, and presently the floating object appeared close ahead of him, something round and rusty-yellow seen momentarily against the grey horizon. It bobbed over the edge of a wave and went from sight. As he pursued it he speculated puzzledly. It had looked somehow like a buoy, but there were no buoys so far from shore; unless it had been torn from its moorings. Then he plunged breathlessly down a long glacis of green, foam-patterned water and at the same moment the object of his search topped the crest of the further summit, and he realised what it was. For an instant his disappointment was keen. Then reason told him that even a floating mine was better than nothing, and he struggled up the slope of a wave and, shaking the water from his eyes, saw the thing almost above him. Two strokes and he had the fingers of one hand about a rusted ring-bolt and, relaxing, drew grateful breaths of air into his tired lungs.

Presently he had recovered sufficiently to examine his prize. It was just such a mine as he had seen a dozen times, a metal sphere some three feet in diameter, its lower and upper halves held together by bolts passing through flanges. Three ring-bolts were set at equal distances around the top, while at intervals “horns,” or firing pins, stuck out. Joe guessed there must be eight of these. That the mine had been in the water a good while was evidenced by the thick scales of rust around flanges and bolts and by a slimy deposit of greenish growth on the underwater half of it. There was nothing he could see to tell him whether the instrument of destruction was of Allied or German origin. He thought, however, he could detect a difference in the shape and length of the horns from those on the mines he had seen. Later he glimpsed a short length of wire cable depended from below and knew then that the mine had in some manner been parted from its anchor and swept away from a field. How long it had been bobbing around in the path of navigation he couldn’t guess.

At another time, under other circumstances, Joe might have smiled at the incongruity of making friends with a couple of hundred pounds of high explosive, but just now the thought didn’t occur to him. The big metal ball, harmless enough so long as it didn’t collide with anything hard enough to detonate it, seemed very friendly out there in that watery void. It was a rather erratic and unsteady friend, to be sure, for it nodded and bobbed and dipped and turned continually, but it was something a bit more stable than the waves and it offered help in keeping afloat. Joe tried holding to the rim, but the mine didn’t approve of that, apparently, for it slipped away several times. Then he again grasped a ring-bolt, which, while demanding a strained position of the arm, was far more secure. He began to talk to it presently: called it “old chap”: speculated on their chance of rescue: found a deal of comfort in the sound of his voice until his parched tongue ached and he had to stop. Up and down they went, mine and boy, lifted to the wind-topped summits, drawn to the deep hollows, dashed with spray, flung about like the two tiny atoms they were, while about them a grey-green desert of ocean stretched emptily to meet an empty leaden sky.