St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1878-02-08

W Ot tHdt SOihC OhO cOS SHN'-
fl ON the shore and come to their rescue.
But how long would this faint hope
sustain them How long could they
keep their hold with this icy numbness
coming over them 7
They waited-at first full of impossi-
BILE plans for escape, then silent. Who
can tell what thoughts came to their
minds in those fearful minutes? Did
not the Captain think of his brothers,
yes, and his father before them, to Won
der if the sea could be his grave as it
was theirs 7-and the poor fisherman
did he not feel, in mocking dream,
the warm, clinging arms of his babies
around his stiffening neck But Franks
thoughts were all of his mother, swell
ing his boyish heart till it seemed ready
to break, as he fancied the bitterness of
her grief if he never came back to her.
The tOwnspeople often call him "moth-
er's boy" not only because he had
grown up under her sole care-and it
was evident that he was the one pre-
cious thing she had still to live fOr-but
also because of Il certain neatness in his
dress at all times and gentleness and
refinement in his speech and manners,
which might have come from that con-
slant womanly influence. Many feared
that his character might lack the manly
virtues of courage and decision and
even his schOOlmates, when the love of
teasing was very strong, would call him
''mother's baby,n and Cranky" laying
an insulting emphasis upon the last
syllable, so that he had begged his
mother to call him Frank, which she
did, unless in moment of tenderness
the old baby name slipped from her
tongue.
If the veteran seamen of the place
could have known the situation of this
forlorn and shivering trio, what hope of
rescue would they have found in the
disabled Captain, the inefficient Smith,
or the boy who, according to their pro-
phecy, "would never be good for much
brought up so soft by women 7"
The clock in the steeple of the village
church struck the strokes were faint,
but they could count the strokes.
"Uncle Charlie" said Frank, sis that
twelve o'clock ?"
"Yes."
''Don't the tide turn about this time 2"
asked Josiah.
at has turned" replied the Captain !;
''it is ebbing now"
'"Then,n cried Frank, "we'll drift out
to sea- everybody will be home to din
ner now no one will be likely to come
to the shore for an hour, and perhaps
no one will see us to-day "
Frank" said his uncle, earnestly;
''keep up your courage-dOn't give up.
My miserable head is beginning to
whirl, and | may drop off soon; but
hold on-think of your mother, Frank,
and keep afioat as long as you have
your senses"
But even while he spoke, he felt how
slender was the chance that the poor
mother would ever see her living darling
again.
The mention of his mother called up
before the boy her gentle face as he
saw it last smiling at his boast of swim
ming from the "Neck" to the shore. He
had never heard that any one perform
ed that feat !; but would it be possible
to swim from the boat to the shore,
through the icy water aud the wide belt
of entangling eel-grass ? 1t did not
seem so far to the Neck" and there
was no dreaded eel-glass on that side to
catch his feet and pull him down but
the nearest point was fully two miles
from the lighthouse, the only inhabited
house there. He might reach it alone,
but could not be so mean as to leave
his uncle without an effort to save him,
and 'Siah too?
"Uncle," said Frank, 81 am going to
swim ashore here we are right oppo-
site Capt. Wentworth's; | can swim
ashore, get his dOry, and come after
you and 'Siah. | think can do it at
any rate, can't hold Oh long in this
wind, and shall soon be too numb to
SWIM"
The Captain was silent-what could
he sayP To go or to stay seemed equal
ly dangerous but Frank, loOsing the
hold of one hand, was already working
his stitfened fingers, and trying to throw
off his boots in readiness for start.
"GO ~ said his uncle land God help
you"
And God did help him as he threw
himself into the angry waters, and
struck out for the shore. He felt resO-
lutte, and confident, wasted no strength
i'll uncertain, hurried movements, but
with deliberate and steady strokes went
on. The tide being almost at the flood,
he passed through the entangling eel
grass with less trouble than he had fear
ed on, on, stroke after stroke, the
shore seeming to grow no nearer, until,
at last, with one final, desperate effort,
he reached the shallow water his feet
touched bottom, he staggered forward,
and fell upon the sand.
Hardly II minute would he take for
rest-the others must be saved. He
sprang up, waved his hands toward the
distant boat to show the men that he
was safe, and looked about-no boat in
sight; he ran up the sands to the boat
house and pushed at the dOOr-it was
locked
Here was difficulty that he had not
foreseen; it would take at least twelve
minutes to run up to the house for the
key and return; twelve minutes lost,
when every one was precious! He
seized something heavy which lay at
hand, and showered frantic blows upon
the cruel door; at last it yielded and
here was the boat, with oars all in
readiness he had dreaded that the oars
might have been taken away. Yes,
these was the boat, but it was many
feet from the water. and it would be a
hard task for a man to drag it through
the deep sand, while he was but boy,
nearly exhausted already by extraordi-
nary efforts; but he hardly thought of
all that-he laid determined hands
upon the boat, and it moved.
Impossible as it would have seemed
to him at any other time, the boat was
launched; then he took up the oars =
his work was almost done, but he must
not rest yet, and, while straining mus
cles he retraced his way over the rough
water. His uncle almost fell into the
boat, with the words: