the surprise of the helpless watchers on the shore precludes description. they knew that out upon that seething river a tragedy was being enacted; but the driving rain made a wall about them—they could not aid, they could not even see. they stood about in groups, and whispered, and listened, and strained their eyes to pierce the mist.
mark's friends were wild with alarm; and his enemies—who can describe their feelings?
a man has said that it is a terrible thing to die with a wrong upon one's soul; but that it is agony to see another die whom you have wronged, to know that your act can never be atoned for now. that there is one unpardonable sin to your account on the records of eternity. that was how the yearlings felt; and even bull harris, ruffian though he was, trembled slightly about the lips.
the storm itself was one of those which come but seldom. nature's mighty forces flung loose in one giant[pg 220] cataclysm. it came from the north, and it had a full sweep down the valley of the hudson, pent in and focused to one point by the mountains on each side. it tore the trees from the tops as it came; it struck the river with a swish, and beat the water into foam. it flung the raindrops in gusts against it, and caught them up in spray and whirled them on; and this, to the echoing crashes of the thunder and the dull, lurid gleam of the lightning that played in the rear.
one is silent at such times at that; the frightened cadets on the shore would probably have stood in groups and trembled, and done nothing through it all, had it not been for a cry that aroused them. some one, sharper eyed than the rest, espied a figure struggling in the water near the shore. there was a rush for the spot, and strong arms drew the swimmer in. it was captain fischer, breathless and exhausted from the race.
he lay on the bank, panting for breath for a minute, and then raised himself upon his arms.
"where's mallory?" he cried, his voice sounding faint and distant in the roar of the storm.
"out there," responded somebody, pointing.
[pg 221]"w-why don't somebody go help him?" gasped the other. "he'll drown!"
"don't know where to go to," answered the first speaker, shaking his head.
fischer sank back, too exhausted, himself, to move.
"he'll drown! he'll drown!" he muttered. "he is tired to death from the race."
and after that there was another anxious wait, every one hesitating, wondering if there were any use venturing into the tossing water.
the storm was one that came in gusts; its first minute's fury past, there was a brief let up in its violence, and the darkness that the black clouds had brought with them yielded to the daylight for a while. during that time those on the shore got one brief glimpse of a startling panorama.
the boat was sighted first, still skimming along before the gale, but obviously laboring with the water she had shipped. the frightened occupant was still in the stern, clinging to the gunwale with terror. there was a shout raised when the boat was noticed, and all eyes were bent upon it anxiously. then some one, chancing a glance down the river below, caught a glimpse of a moving head.
[pg 222]"there's mallory!" he cried. "hooray!"
there was mallory, and mallory was swimming desperately, as the crowd could dimly see. for the boat he was aiming at was just a little farther out in the stream than he, and bearing swiftly down upon him. whatever happened must happen with startling rapidity, and the crowd knew it, and forebore to shout—almost to breathe.
the boat plunged on; the swimmer fairly leaped through the waves. nearer it came, nearer—up to him—past him! no! for, as it seemed, the bow must cleave his body, the body was seen to leap forward with it. he had caught the boat! and a wild cheer burst from the spectators.
"he's safe! he's safe!"
but the cheer, as it died out, seemed to catch in their throats, and to change into a gasp of suspense, and then of horror.
mallory had clung to the bow for a moment, as if too exhausted to move. his body, half submerged, had cut a white furrow in the water, drawn on by the plunging boat. then the girl, in an evil moment, released her hold and sprang forward to help him. she caught his arm, and he flung himself upon the boat.
[pg 223]and then came the crash.
leaning to one side, with the sudden weight, the boat half turned, and then gibed with terrific violence. the great boom swung around like a giant club, driven by the pressure of the wind upon the vast surface of the sail. the watchers gave a half-suppressed gasp, mallory was seen to put out his arm, and the next instant the blow was struck.
it hit the girl with a crash that those on shore thought they heard; it flung her far out into the water, and almost at the same instant mallory was seen to leap out in a low, quick dive. then, as if the scene was over, and the book shut, the rain burst out again in its fury, and the darkness of the raging storm shut it all out.
this time there could be no mistaking duty; the cadets knew now where the struggling pair were, and they had no reason to hesitate. first to move was one of a group of six anxious plebes, who had been waiting in agony; it was texas, and the spectators saw him plunge into the water and vanish in the driving rain. then more of that crowd followed him; fischer, too, sprang up, exhausted though he was, and in the end there were at least a dozen[pg 224] sturdy lads swimming with all their might toward the spot where mallory had been seen to leap.
they were destined, however, to do but little good; so we shall stay by those upon the shore.
the weakening of bull harris' followers has been mentioned; it increased as the plebe's self-sacrificing daring was shown.
"he certainly is spunky," one of the crowd ventured to mutter, as he shivered and watched. "i hope he gets ashore."
and bull turned upon him with a savage oath.
"you fool!" he cried. "you confounded fool! if he does, i could kill him! kill him! do you hear me?"
there are some natures like that. have you read the tale of macauley's?—
"how brave horatius held the bridge
in the good old days of yore."
there was just such a hero then battling with the waves as now—
"curse him!" cried false sextus.
"will not the villain drown?"
and on the other hand[pg 225]—
"heaven help him," quoth spurius laritus,
"and bring him safe to shore!
for such a gallant feat of arms
has ne'er been seen before."
there were few of bull's crowd as hardened in their hatred as was he; murray was one, and the sallow vance another. baby edwards followed suit, of course. but, as for the rest of them, they were thinking.
"i don't care!" vowed one. "i'm sorry we've got him fired."
"do you mean," demanded bull, in amazement, "that you're not going to keep the promise you made a while ago?"
"that's what i do!" declared the other, sturdily. "i think he deserves to stay!"
and bull turned away in alarm and disgust.
"fools!" he muttered to himself. "fools!" and gritted his teeth in rage. "i hope he's never seen again."
it seemed as if that might happen; the cadets during all this time had been standing out in the driving rain, striving to pierce the darkness of the storm. from the river came an occasional shout from some one of the rescue party; but no word from the plebe or the girl.
[pg 226]once the watchers caught sight of a figure swimming in; it proved to be fischer once more. the cadets had rushed toward him with sudden hope, but he shook his head, sadly.
"couldn't—couldn't find him," he panted, shaking the water from his hair and shielding his face from the driving rain. "i was too tired to stay long."
the storm swept by in a very short while. violence such as that cannot last long in anything. while the anxious cadets raced up and down the shore, each striving to catch a glimpse of mallory, the dark clouds sailed past and the rain settled into an ordinary drizzle. the surface of the white-capped river became visible then, and gradually the heads of the swimmers came into view.
"there's billy williams!" was the cry. "and that's texas, way over there. here's parson stanard! and jones!"
and so on it went, but no mallory. those on the shore could not see him and those in the river had no better luck. most of them had begun to give up in despair, when the long-expected cry did come. for mark was not dead by a long shot.
a shout came from a solitary straggler far down the[pg 227] stream, and the straggler was seen to plunge into the water. those on the shore made a wild dash for the spot and those in the water struck out for the shore so as to join them. and louder at last swelled the glad cry.
"here he is! hooray!"
the plebe was about a hundred yards from the shore, and swimming weakly; the girl, still unconscious, was floating upon her back—and her rescuer, holding her by the arms—was slowly towing her toward the shore.
a dozen swam out to aid him as soon as he was seen; strong arms lifted the girl and bore her high upon the bank, others supporting the half-fainting plebe to a seat.
"is she dead?" was mark's first thought, as soon as he could speak at all.
"i don't know," said fischer, chafing the girl's hands and watching for the least sign of life. "somebody hustle up for the doctor there! quick!"
several of the cadets set out for the hospital at a run; and the rest gathered about the two and offered what help they could.
"it's judge fuller's daughter," said fischer, who was[pg 228] busily dosing the unconscious figure with a flask of reddish liquid surreptitiously produced by one of the cadets.
"do you know her?" inquired mark, in surprise.
"know her!" echoed half the bystanders at once. "why, she lives just across the river!"
"that's an ugly looking wound on the head there," continued fischer, bending over the prostrate form. "gosh! but that boom must have struck her. and here, mallory," he added, "you'd best take a taste of this brandy. you look about dead yourself."
"no, i thank you," responded mark, smiling weakly. "i'm all right. only i'm glad it's all over and——"
mark got no farther; as if to mock his words came a cry that made the crowd whirl about and look toward the river in alarm.
"help! help!"
"by george!" cried fischer, "it's one of the fellows!"
"it's alan!" shouted mark. "alan dewey!"
and before any one could divine his intention he sprang up and made a dash for the river. for mark knew how dewey had come there; he had swum out, cripple though he was, to hunt for him; and with his[pg 229] one well arm, poor gallant dewey was finding trouble in getting back.
mark had been quick, but fischer was a bit too quick for him and seized him by the arm.
"come back here!" he commanded, sternly. "and don't be a fool. you're near dead. some of you fellows swim out and tow that plebe in."
half a dozen had started without being asked; and mark's overzealous friend was grabbed by the hair and arms and feet and rushed in in great style. he came up smiling as usual.
"got out too far, b'gee!" he began. "very foolish of me! reminds me of a story i once heard—— oh, say!"
this last explanation came as the speaker caught sight of the figure of the young girl; and his face lost its smile on the instant.
"she's alive, isn't she?" he cried.
"don't know," said fischer. "here comes the doctor now."
"well, she certainly is a beautiful girl!" responded dewey, shaking his head. "b'gee, we don't want that kind to die!"
[pg 230]the doctor was coming on a run; and a minute later he was kneeling beside the young girl's body.
"jove!" he muttered. "almost a fractured skull! no, she's alive! see here, who got her out?"
"mr. mallory," responded the captain, turning toward where mark had sat. and then he gave vent to a startled exclamation.
"good heavens! he's fainted! what's the matter?"
"fainted?" echoed the surgeon, as he noticed the young man's white lips and bloodless cheek. "fainted! i should say so! why, he's almost as near dead as she! we must take him to the hospital."
