The enterprise. [volume] (Harlem, Mont.) 1899-1926, 1914-01-29

thought it was something giving way
in my brain. The schooners head
rose swiftly, the water receded and
we found ourselves able to breathe
again. Oh, but the air was good!
Trembling, dizzy, exhausted, we
stretched ourselves along the face
boards and rested.
What had happened was this:
When the schooner was hove on her
side the anchor chain, slowed in box
on deck, went overheard, and present
ly, as she swept along with the tide,
the end fouled the bottom and drag
ged her head under water. Then a
miracle occurred; the big link in the
shackle Of the other end near the wild
lass broke and allowed her head to
come up again.
The schooner wallowed on her side.
She rose and fell to the heave of the
swell, in a heavy, sickening way, but
she did not roll much. Often We
were ducked under; and the noises
were frightful; roaring, snarling
sounds of surf; blood-thirsty gurg-
lings, the dull booming sound Of
things beating against the skin of the
hold.
l was numb with cold, and awfully
weary and before long, in spite Of the
noises, the fear Of slipping off my
perch, the horror of it all, I dropped
off into a doze. And as / dozed l
dreamed the schooner was hove down
while was on deck; dreamed that
saw my chum Will Kenney washed
overheard and dived after him.
Thirst, Cold and Horror.
Then / woke up to find myself
struggling under water. It was was
still pitchdark and for moment or
so ! had no idea where / was. As
my head came above the water
struck something hard, and down
went again before I could get my
lungs full of air. Half stunned | strug-
gled up again, and rammed my head
through small opening, SO small
that could not get my shoulders
through. My mouth was just above
water. When l tried to struggle
through the opening, the thing resting
upon my shoulders would lift lit
tie and then press me down till
could not breathe. l struggled fran
tically, and the harder / strove to
keep my mouth above water the more
l seemed to be forced down.
/ could not imagine what kind of a
trap l had got into and my imagina-
ton was mighty active; just as they
say of drowning man. A moving
picture Of my whole life seemed to
flash before me. Every deed of a sin
full nature l had ever done seemed to
rise up against me, crowding out all
hope Of salvation.
At the same time my mind was
wildly searching for an explanation
Of my plight, and at last, when l was
nearly done for, 1t struck me that the
thing that was drowning me was the
step-ladder of the forecastle-gangway.
That was it; the ladder was floating
and l had got my head between the
steps. | knew what to do then, but
1t was not easy to draw my head
down and out, for the bevel Of the
steps held my head as in trap.
But at last managed it, and hook
ed my arms over the floating ladder
till I got my wind.
yelled for Sam, but got no answer.
OF course could not tell what part of
the forecastle was in, but padded
around and finally. as sea lifted me,
got hold of the bunk side-board and
hauled myself up inside the bunk. At
wood was still sleeping. l touched
him, but he did not wake. / got hold
of some pieces of boards floating just
below me, and propped them across
the mouth Of the berth so l would
not fall through, and soon l guess /
went to sleep again.
The Yankee Captain Volunteers.
When the schooner was flung on
her beam-ends, one dory took the wa
ter right side up and somehow Capt.
Brown, Nat Knowles the cook and
John Smith managed to get into it.
Whether they tried to row back and
pick off any of the other men left
clinging to the weather rail | don't
know; probably it would have been
madness to have tried it in the sea
then running. Anyway, they drove
before the gale for several hours, and
then, after passing through a quarter
Of a mile of surf, landed on the south.
ern side of Cape island How they
managed to live through the surf has
always been mystery; but they did
and were soon at the house of Pelick
Nickerson telling their tale.
Nickerson soon carried the news tc
Clark's Harbor, and the hardy fisher
men Of that place were reused from
their slumbers to consider means Of
rescue. The American fishing schoon
| er Matchless, Capt. Job Crowell, was
| lying in the harbor, where she hac
come for shelter from the gale. anl
when told of the disaster her skippe,
was quite as ready to 60 to the res
| cue as the men Of the port.
| His crew was scattered, but there